My accident, my son, my fault
by KHwhitelion
Summary: Sequel to ‘My go to guy.’ As JD continues to fall apart, will his friends notice before it’s too late? Or will an accident caused by a very angry Dr. Cox end his life before he has the chance to turn it around?
1. My bad beginning

**Just to clarify in case people over looked this in the description: this is the sequel to the one-shot I wrote called "My go to guy" If you haven't read it, I suggest you do so before reading this fic.**

**That aside….here's the sequel!!!!! Or rather, the beginning of it. I'm not exactly sure how many chapters the entire thing is going to be….I guess it all depends how long it takes me to tell this story :D **

**I 'warn' you, I feel like parts of it (especially this chapter) move kind of slowly, but I'll do my best to keep the past flowing steadily enough.**

**Oh yes, and this doesn't take place directly after "my go to guy" but some time after it. **

**I hope you all enjoy!!**

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**JD's POV**

I knew as soon as I woke up this morning that this was going to be a bad day. Maybe it was because of my unbelievably loud alarm clock that had so rudely roused me from my sleep about _two hours and a half _too early; maybe it was because of my temporary blindness at being greeted by a viscous ray of sunlight from the window I had so carelessly forgotten to close last night. Or maybe it's because I know I'm going to have my ass handed to me by Doctor Cox when he sees I didn't complete all the hospital papers I said I'd do. Whatever the reason, as soon as my eyes popped open—then instantly closed again due to the bright light burning my pupils—I've had this horrible feeling in my stomach that something was going to be different today. And I don't mean that in a good way.

After debating for a second or two what my next move should be, I decided to curl back up under the covers and see if I could catch just an once or two more of sleep. I really need it—I've been feeling unusually tired lately, which, if I don't monitor, could start affecting my performance at work. So far I've been okay; no one's coded on me yet or been submitted to the ICU. Which is pretty good, considering….

….well, a lot of things actually.

I rolled over onto my side, pulling my blanket closer to my body, a sudden chill coming over me, and I was once again reminded of my unfinished paperwork lying somewhere in the living room. I should probably get on that, since I'm technically awake. If I don't, who knows what Dr. Cox could do to me….

_______________________________________

"_Newbie," an older doctor with blond curly hair snarls, glaring at me. I wince. _

"_Yes, Dr. Cox?"_

"_Newbie," he continues, as if I've never interrupted, "I'm not happy with your performance today." He snaps, his eyes cold and menacing. _

_I take a step back, bowing frantically. "Sorry Dr. Cox, sir!" I blurt out, afraid of what he'll do next. His heartless eyes are still locked with mine, but now his teeth are clenching together. _

"_Sorry doesn't cut it, Patricia" he hisses, his voice growing more and more gravely. "In fact, it only makes me angry."_

_All of a sudden, he transforms into the Incredible Hulk, grabs me with both hands, and snaps me like a twig._

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I shuttered, reeling out of my thoughts before anything gets more violent. _My daydreams are getting progressively violent as time goes on,_ I thought, rubbing my head with an unnaturally pale hand. Ah well. At least I _was_ daydreaming again. A good sign, seeing as to how I haven't felt as creative as I usually do….

"Argh! What is that noise?!" I turned back around sharply, only now painfully aware of the same, irritating ringing that went off earlier this morning.

Yep. It's my alarm clock. The damned thing's _still_ on.

"I get it I get it! It's time to get up!!" I shriek at the clock, suddenly angry, and hurl it against the wall before I can even catch myself. As it breaks into like, fifty different pieces, I notice the lovely dent it's made in my bedroom wall. That's going to be so much _fun_ trying to repair later.

Well, now that I've officially removed my head from my pillow and completely destroyed my alarm clock, I really can't go back to sleep now. Too bad—I was hoping for an excuse to stay in bed longer. It's warm under here.

Probably the only warmth I'm going to get all day.

I sigh, kicking back my covers but still sitting on the mattress—holy crap am I actually contemplating skipping out on work?—no….no….pull yourself together, JD….now is not the time for this.

With an unusual amount of effort, I actually manage to stand up, and drag my body over to the bathroom. Everything seems really heavy for some reason, not to mention my head is killing me. Maybe I'm dehydrated; I'll pick up a few water bottles on my way to the hospital.

Things go relatively smoothly from here. I undress, take a shower, hunt around for a towel before I realize it's on top of the toilet….nothing out of the ordinary. It isn't until I'm standing in front of the mirror, combing my hair, that I'm aware of it. My appearance. While my hair—as always—looks great, it isn't the first thing I notice this time.

_Is that….really me?_ I ask myself, shocked and on the way to being horrified as I stare at my reflection. It can't be. The man staring back at me….there's no way we're the same person. He's so pale—there's hardly any color at all left in his face—and thin. Holy shi—is that my ribcage? No….no way….

There are heavy bags under each eye as well….and a glazed look in each pupil. I shake my head. That isn't me. It _can't_ be me. I'm a doctor, right? I wouldn't have allowed this to happen. I wouldn't have let things to get so bad.

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**Kelso's POV**

I _hate_ waking up in the morning. It's too damn cold, and too damn early to go to work. Especially today. Since Harrison's borrowed my car to once again travel _who_ knows where, I'm stuck using Enid's old minivan. Talk about humiliating: chief of medicine, Doctor Bob Kelso, arriving at Sacred Heart in a rusted, pale blue _minivan_. I don't have kids anymore, dammit—I want some style in my old age.

Oh well, at least it's not a total loss. I managed to pick up some muffins—right out of the oven—on the way to work. Don't get me wrong, I love getting free muffins for life at the hospital….but even_ I_ need some variation occasionally. Plus, if I hover around there less often, Perry will be forced to stop making comments about my weight. At least once in awhile, anyway. _Yes_, I know I've put on a few pounds—what does he expect me to do? I'm tied up at work all day long and when I get home there's really nothing I can do for exercise. My dog Baxter's been dead for a good number of years, and Enid's confined to a wheelchair. No company means no fun, and no fun means no exercise. I'm not like him—that man seems to put more work in his personal fitness than in anything else he does. Even more than being a doctor, and sometimes….more than time he could be spending with his family.

At least, that's what I think. But of course, he's made it perfectly clear a long time ago that Doctor Perry Cox doesn't care about anyone's opinion but his own.

The bastard. Who does he think he is? Great doctor or not, he's not the best—he still has areas where he could improve. Like acting like a decent human being for once. No matter how big in his britches he gets, Perry's downfall has always been his callousness towards his patients. Now, maybe he _has_ softened over the years—it still drives him crazy when one of them asks to be treated by Dr. Dorian even after only meeting him once.

Ah, Dr. Dorian. Now there's someone I'd like to see more of at Sacred Heart. By someone, of course, I mean _something_—whatever it is that man's got. In all my years of practice, I've never seen a doctor act quite the way he does. He's so….kind and caring….I swear he could have sugar pouring out of his ears….

_____________________________________________________

_I look up from my office at the sound of footsteps, not at all surprised to see Dr. Dorian walking through the door._

"_Here ya go, Dr. Kelso," he chirps, that same, ridiculous smile on his face "Mr. Angello's test results." He throws the clipboard on my desk before adding "you'll be happy to know they came back negative." _

_I raise an eyebrow—not from hearing the information but at the large wave of pure, crystalline sugar pouring from his ears. He looks at me, completely oblivious, but obviously expecting a response. _

"_Uh….thank you, Dr. Dorian," I manage after a minute or two "dismissed." _

_Still smiling, he turns to leave. However, before he does, he turns back around, noticing the immense trail of white powder on the floor. "You might want to get someone to clean that up." He speculates._

______________________________________________________________

**HONK!!!!!!**

What the--?! I snap back into focus, startled by the loud and abruptness of the numerous car horns sounding behind me. I turn around to face the drivers, now slightly annoyed. One of them mutters something about "wanting to go, "and "not having all day" all the while gesturing to the sky.

I look up. Whoa! Green light! Slamming my foot on the gas pedal, I speed ahead, away from the cars and the angry horns honking at me. _Damn drivers,_ I think bitterly, clutching my steering wheel a bit tighter than before, _and right in the middle of a daydream._

A frown crosses my face then, and I reach over to the muffin bag in the seat beside me, feeling around for one filled with lots of chocolate. Chocolate always calms me down.

Finding my target, I pull the muffin out and shove it into my mouth, yet as I begin to chew the thing, my thoughts drift back to Dr. Dorian—and a twinge of shame strikes me. He probably wouldn't need an "artificial pick me up" like I do….

….what the hell are you thinking, Bob? You are _not_ Dorian, and he's _not_ you. You're _Dr. Kelso_, the chief of medicine. You have much _more_ to deal with than he does. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and enjoy your muffin.

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**JD's POV**

One way or another, I somehow made it to Sacred Heart. By now my head ache has escalated the pain level to about a five—I never did get to pick up any water—and there's an uncomfortable knot in the center of my chest. My reflection….I haven't been able to stop thinking about it—to get that image out of my head. _My_ image. I still can't—nor do I want to—believe that was _me_ in the mirror. It just….it just isn't possible….

….and even if it were, why did I never notice until now?

Unh….

My head throbs again as I head towards the hospital's entrance, and the same heavy feeling returns to my limbs. _Perfect. _I think dryly, ignoring the sudden fear clutching at my heart. This is the third time it's happened today. First I almost kill myself in the shower while trying to dodge a bar of soap that slipped out of my hand, _then_ I have to take the bus because I can't maintain proper control of Sasha, and now _this_. It's so humiliating. At least, it _would_ be, if not for the alarm growing in the back of my head.

Three times today my body's felt like lead. _Three_ times. Shit.

Slightly worried now, I approached the doors to Sacred Heart, and suddenly realized how nauseous I feel. My tummy is queasy and continuously makes gurgling noises, but I'm not all that concerned, despite feeling crappy. Just my stomach protesting about being empty. _Again. _I grimace, holding a hand against my unsettled abdomen. _I know you're hungry, _I moan mentally, my teeth clenching as I'm hit with a stronger way of nausea.

_I just can't bring myself to eat._

I stop in my tracks, feeling my eyes widen. Did I just—

"….Jordan, remind me again _why_ you decided to bring our kids to this hell hole of a place?" I hear male voice—older than mine—complain, though it was etched in sarcasm. "Are you _trying_ to sell their souls for some extra cash you and I both know you don't need? Or have you already done that?"

I raise my head, following the voice until my eyes rest on four figures, standing right in front of the hospital doors. Two adults—male and female—and two children, one not even a year old. Getting closer to the entrance myself, I recognize them immediately. It's Dr. Cox and his family.

"Ha ha." Jordan replied, laughing sarcastically and hoisting her baby—Jennifer—higher up in her arms, "I told you Per; there was a last minute board meeting and I couldn't get a hold of the nanny." She narrowed her eyes, flashing Dr. Cox a look that would have made any other man turn to stone. "So stop complaining, or I'll have you suspended for a month so _you_ can stay _home_ with the kids. How 'bout _that_?"

His face morphed into an aggravated expression, and he exhaled sharply. "Listen sweet cheeks" he snapped, not necessarily in a cruel tone, but definitely an irritated one, "I know ya just _love_ thinking you're all high and mighty just cuz you're on the hospital board, but the fact is, you don't actually have the kind of power you think you do in fact, you could say you have _less_ power, and by less I don't mean you're cut one extra nickel on your paycheck—I mean _less_ like the amount of times you were actually _nice_ to someone during the past few years." He paused then, wearing a smug expression, and rocking back and forth as he waited for Jordan's response. I rolled my eyes.

"He's so full of it."

Instantly, both Jordan and Dr. Cox turned in my direction. Crap, did I say that out loud?! Dammit!

"Well, look who it is." Dr. Cox said, in that way he does when about to make some crack at me, "Tell me, Priscilla, is there a particular reason you were watching us? _Or_ were you hoping to catch a glimpse of that love-hate relationship you just adore oh so very much because you happened to miss the nightly soap opera you watch last night?"

I continue to stare at him, and even though I knew I was still wearing a shocked expression, I almost flinched at how incredibly crushed I felt at that moment. Each word, each fake-laugh of his hit me like a bullet. But I said nothing, deciding instead to ignore his comment and walk past him.

But, as usual, things never go the way I want them too. Not that I'm surprised.

"Oh, _Charlotte_." I hear him say, cringing as I notice his footsteps increasing behind me. I do not want to be dealing with this right now.

From somewhere in the background I hear Jordan shout some crude remark, but the sliding doors close behind us before I have the chance to hear.

"Charlotte, are you actually doing what I think you're doing?" Dr. Cox continues. I scowl. Well that depends on what you mean by 'doing.' Am I trying to make it down this hallway without losing anymore self-esteem? Am I trying to keep it together long enough to make it through rounds and tend to my patients? Then yes, Perry, that _is_ what I'm doing.

"Are you actually attempting to _brush me off?_ Is _that_ it?"

I decide not to respond, but keep walking forward, my eyes set straight ahead of me.

Of course, it wouldn't be Dr. Cox if he gave up that easily, and before I can turn the corner, he steps ahead of me, blocking my way. "I don't like being ignored, _newbie_." He starts, glaring at me. "You know that, don'tcha?" He looks at me, clearly not seeing anything more than an object of entertainment.

Figures.

I feel like crap, I _look_ like crap, and he doesn't even notice. "You know what Perry?!" I scream, exploding in anger actually surprised by how loud I actually sound, "I'm not in the mood for this right now, okay?! So just….just leave me the hell a-alone!" I stutter on the last word, so mad at him and myself that I've started _shaking._

_Shaking_.

Oh shit….oh _shit_.

I guess things really are bad.

I can see Dr. Cox opening his mouth, but I'm not sure I want to hear what he has to say. Instead, I flash him another furious look, before forcing my way past him, on the verge of vomiting and feeling more terrified than I've been in a long time.

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**Well, that's it for chapter one. I hope everyone liked it. I tried to make it longer than most of my 'chapter ones' of fanfics are. I just hope it didn't drag.**

**I think that, unlike a lot of JD angst fics, this time, JD actually knows something's wrong with him, and he's quite freaked out by just how much he's let himself sink into this 'depression.' Hence all the language and "un-JD-ish" tone of this chapter. I tried to make it sound like him, but as the chapter came to an end, that became a bit harder to do. Well, in my defense, he's an emotional mess, on the verge of completely losing it….**

…**.ooh, but I DID like how Kelso's POV turned out XD I had a lot of fun with that one. Not sure why I threw Kelso in there—I guess I just wanted to break from JD's POV long enough for some time to pass. It proved easier than I thought, but I wonder how I'll do writing as Turk, Carla, and Dr. Cox….well, we'll see in the next chapter!!**

**one last thing: about Kelso and the minivan....it's kinda based on a joke at my church (youth group) No harm meant by it!**

**Review, people!! It really helps my creative muse, and keeps my inspiration/motivation up when writing multi-chapter fics like this!!**


	2. My realization

**Well, here's chapter two!!!!! Sorry if I've kept you guys waiting; even with me knowing what's going to happen in this story, I've been really busy, and haven't had as much time to write as I would have liked. Oh well, can't be helped.**

**Anyway, I think this chapter is slightly more depressing than the last one, and that also contributed to my lack of update. Writing as a depressed JD is harder that I first thought. But I think, gradually, I'm getting the hang of it.**

**Oh yeah, thanks to everyone who reviewed chapter one—I love getting feedback from my readers, to see how they like the story so far.**

**Well, that's it! Hope you enjoy!**

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**Carla's POV**

I've noticed over the years, that people don't pay as much attention to us nurses as they used to. Which I find odd, considering we're stationed practically in the center of the hospital. We witness everything that goes on around us—as I like to put it, we're the "eyes and ears" of Sacred Heart. Nothing gets past us. Nothing at all. And yet, the longer I work here, it seems the people nowadays view us as invisible—and not just the patients, but some of the staff members as well. It's amazing how many times people walk by, saying or doing crude things—sometimes about us—and don't even realize me and some of the others are perfectly aware we're watching them.

I've even caught Turk doing that once in a while, though since becoming a father, he's learned to be a bit more responsible—plus, he knows if he even _thinks_ about doing anything like that again, I'll nail him to the wall.

Although, I think what bugs me the most is that people only really come to us when they absolutely need something. Now, with patients, I can understand; after all, they're usually inclined to ask their doctors if they have a question, so when they come to us, it's because the doctors are unavailable. And I'm okay with that.

What I'm _not_ okay with, is when the hospital _staff_ does the same thing. I mean really, it's been _how_ many years? And they still think they can ignore us except when it's convenient for them? Give me a break….

"….um….m-maybe you should let me or one of the o-others do that…."

I look up, familiar with the shaking nervous voice of yet another intern, and follow it to the source. As I suspected, there's a clump of young doctors huddled around a patient's bed, watching an older, sickly looking doctor in the center, trying—with difficulty—to put in an IV. I raise one of my dark eyebrows, studying the scene with mild interest. It's apparent many if not all of the interns are uncomfortable with this 'demonstration,' uncertainty clearly showing in their eyes. As for the doctor himself, well, aside from his apparent lack of focus, he's so frail looking that I'm guessing even the slightest breeze could knock him over.

I find myself siding with the interns on this one, a sense of embarrassment coming over me as I watch this pitiful display….they know as well as I do the high percentage that he'll miss if he tries to stick the IV into the patient's arm, what with that hazy look in his eyes. Actually, I'm surprised someone in such a condition even came to work today….

"….um….Dr. Dorian….?"

I hear one of the interns—a different one this time—say, their voice gentle, but still wary. That doesn't surprise me.

What _does_, however, is when the doctor holding the IV looks up, answering to that name. _Dorian_.

My eyes widen now, and suddenly I'm observing the scene in a whole different perspective. That….that man….he can't really be….

"JD!" I holler, rushing over to him, "give me that." I snatch the small tube from his shockingly pale hands with ease, smiling all the while so as not to alarm the younger doctors. JD looks at me, his usually bright pupils glazed over, and I'm greeted with the defeat and….hurt?....residing in each one. But he keeps a straight face, never giving in and steps aside, making room for me to complete the job he couldn't. That's so like Bambi; remaining professional no matter what his condition may be.

Although, as I slide the IV into his patient's forearm, I'm hit with a pulse of concern. What, exactly, _happened_ to him? How did he end up like—

"Carla?"

I stop what I'm doing and turn to face JD. "Yes, Bambi?" I ask, recognizing it was him who called me.

He starts to speak, but stops just as abruptly, bringing a hand to his mouth and shutting it tightly. I can tell, even through his closed lips, that he's gagging, and, though I'm concerned, do nothing to stop him when he decides to drop the conversation and sprint down the hall towards the nearest men's room.

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**JD's POV**

After spending the last ten minutes dry heaving into the toilet, I'm now standing at the sink, head pressed against the mirror and doing everything in my power not to cry. Damn, I'm such an idiot. What the hell was I thinking? My interns have no doubt lost faith in me, not only did I manage to fail at completing a simple task in front of them, but I can't even remember what their names are anymore. My patients….well I've just about screwed myself over with them—I don't even want to know what they think of me now. Can't even put in an IV….what kind of doctor _am_ I? _And_ to top it all off, I had to be 'rescued' by a nurse; who just so happened to be _Carla_. She took the damned thing right out of my hand, not only humiliating me and proving to my interns what a wreck I really _am_, but when she came over to 'help' as I'm sure she'd like to call it, she was smiling.

_Smiling_.

She couldn't even tell there was something wrong with me. And yes, I know I try to be professional, but come on! I've seen what I look like, and want to admit it or not, there's _no way_ people are going to believe I'm perfectly fine.

I'm not even sure _I _do, anymore.

Another pang of fear strikes me, and I remove my head from the glass, once again staring at my reflection. I need help—I know I do. I'm not going to pretend my life is just peachy when it's obviously not….

….it's just that….

….I'm pretty damn sure no one in this hospital actually cares. Dr. Cox sure doesn't, in fact; he makes me feel worse than I already do. And Carla….well, I tried talking to her, before I had to run to the bathroom….but by the way she handled that last situation….I'm starting to think she doesn't either.

My eyes meet those of the man in the mirror's, and suddenly I'm hit with the reality….the severity….of the situation. Staring into those hollow, azure pupils that used to be filled with so much hope….so much _life_. Feeling the cold emptiness gnawing relentlessly at my chest. My….unhealthily….thin figure.

It scares the shit out of me….

….I hear a creaking noise coming from one of the walls suddenly, and instantly straighten, pulling my eyes away from the mirror, and refocusing them on the now opening door. _Dammit_, I think, taking several deep breaths in a last attempt to pull myself together. Whoever's on the other side of that door, I'm pretty sure I don't want to see at the moment. Especially if it's Dr. Cox….

…. "JD? Is that you in there?"

I know that voice. "Turk?" I ask, even though I know perfectly well it's him. Sure enough, the cocky but talented surgeon that's been my best friend since college burst through the door, a broad grin on his face.

Dammit, why does _everyone_ around here have to _smile_ so much?

"Hey man," Turk replies, coming over to me, "what's up?"

I say nothing, but in my head, I sigh. Out of all the questions he could have asked, he picked _that_ one. 'what's up.' Well quite frankly, Turk, I'm not sure how to answer that.

"….JD?"

Huh? I see the perplexed look on his face, and it dawns on me—this may be the first time in a long time that I haven't immediately answered anything Turk says. Well, can't have that.

"I'm okay." I say quickly, preparing to leave….wait a minute. What the hell are you doing? You're _not_ okay, or did the past ten minutes in here teach you nothing? Turk's right _there_, you idiot, now's your chance to ask for some help!

_But—_

Do it!

Knowing the voice in my head is right, I come to a stop, mentally getting ready for what I believe is going to be a long and very complicated talk….

….and then, looking at my best friend, I'm reminded of something else. Of how, over the past few weeks, he's been completely wrapped up in his personal life; seemingly endless surgeries, focusing nearly all his attention on his wife….always busy with his daughter….it's like I've become completely invisible to him. Like he doesn't ca—

—but….he noticed you now, right? Said hello to you, didn't he? So there's _got_ to be a part of him that still cares. That….that might actually listen to me if I tell him the truth.

"Uh, Turk?" I inquire, pushing the words out of my mouth. He turns.

"Yeah?"

This is it. No going back now. "Um, actually….I'm not okay. At all."

Turk's cheerful expression changes then—now clearly confused. "Really?"

I feel like some kind of weight is being lifted from me. He's listening to me! He's actually listening! "Yeah." I continue, still scared I could still lose this window of opportunity, "I-I think I….I might be—"

**Bzzzzeep!!!!**

Oh no. Not _that_ sound. My eyes shift to my waist, to the small black pager attached to the side of my pants. I don't think_ I_ was paged; one, I have this haunting suspicion that news of what happened this morning is already floating around the hospital, and two, the sound was coming from somewhere near me and _not_ directly _on_ me.

I again change my view so that I'm looking at Turk again, and something inside be seems to die when I he's holding _his_ pager.

You've got to be kidding me.

"Look, JD" He says, putting down the device and throwing glances at the door, "can we finish this later? I really have to take care of this."

I know what I should say, what my response _should_ be….but for reasons I can't explain, all I can do is nod, while a painful knot twists in my stomach. Turk, however, is back to smiling.

"Thanks, man." He says, waving slightly as he bolts from the men's room without a second glance.

I watch him go, and whatever relief of pressure I temporarily had is now back, hitting me harder than before. My body starts to tremble and I can feel tears forming in my eyes.

I knew it.

I'm _not_ important to Turk anymore.

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**Poor JD. Things aren't looking too good for you, huh?**

**Well, that's it for this chapter. Hm, it was kind of interesting writing as Carla. Not nearly as entertaining as Kelso, but still, something different.**

**Oh, speaking of this, I kind of did the whole "Carla/JD POV thing" like that on purpose, to show that while his friends are becoming aware something is wrong, JD (while he knows something's wrong himself) is still depressed, and whether he knows it or not, it doesn't change the fact that he really doesn't think any of his friends **_**do**_** care.**

**Anyway, please review!!!!!**


	3. My last straw

**Yay! Chapter three is finished! Took long enough XD Yeah I know you all think this is moving at a steady pace, but for me, personally, this chapter took some time to write. Especially the last part. But here it is, finished and I hope you all enjoy it!!**

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**Janitor's POV**

Okay, he went in there about ten minutes ago. That means if you time this _just_ right, you can pull it off.

I'm currently standing a few feet or so away from the men's room, mop in hand and pretending to work—I say pretending, because the majority of the people here know I spend a typical 'work' day doing plenty of other things, _instead_ of cleaning the hospital.

Mainly, torturing Dorian.

Of course, it's a lot more difficult than people think—that is, if you want to do it _just_ right. Ask anyone in the Brain trust; they'll tell you. Sure, some of the stuff I do is a spur of the moment kind of thing—keeps him off guard, if you know what I mean. However, there are some pranks I've done that require quite a bit of planning. I've even got a few of them drawn up on some of Kelso's personal documents….but I burn them after—can't have other people taking credit for my work—so he'll never know.

I lean forward onto my mop, and subtly glance at my surroundings, making sure everything's in position. Hm….yep….yep…._aaaaaaaand_ yep. Perfect. All that remains now is for the mouse to take the bait.

Like so many times in the past, I seem to have once again accidentally predicted the future, because as soon as I finished my last thought, the door the restroom opens, and out walks Dorian. A very _defeated_ looking Dorian. That's unusual. What, did some guy get to him first? Is there someone _else_ out there taking hits at him now? I swear, when I find out who did I'll—what are you doing?! He's going to walk right into your trap any minute! Pay attention so you can enjoy it!

I keep my mouth shut, but watch him carefully. _That's right_….I inwardly encourage, _just a little further…._

Suddenly, he screams, and goes flying into the air, landing with a thud on his back. I look down. Well, _that_ wasn't supposed to happen.

"What the _hell_?!" He shrieks, his face clenched together in what I imagine to be some kind of pain. "You do realize the floor is _wet_, right?!"

I blink a few times, wondering how to react to this unexpected situation. "Yes." I say, in a matter-of-fact tone "yes I do."

Dorian's jaw is still clenched together, but now he's glaring at me. "Then where is the _caution_ sign?! You know, the one that says 'caution; wet floor?!' Or is this some lame-ass attempt at pissing me off because I gotta tell you, I've already managed to get there today _without_ your help!!"

My eyelid twitches, but other than that, I contain my irritation. His outburst annoys me for two reasons: first being that I rarely ever use a caution sign—people should be able to look out for themselves without a handicap—and secondly, he accused me of not being able to read.

However, can't let him know he got under your skin, so just say something to shift the attention back to him. "Well, you complain too much." I state, my voice just above a monotone, "but I don't see _you_ walking around with a "caution; I complain" sign." Nicely done, plus you've added the unusual imagery so he'll be forced into one of his day dreams, giving you enough time to readjust your trap.

Without much thought, I step over him, mop still in hand, and start making the proper corrections to my latest piece of work.

"Ow!"

I feel a tug on my mop and look down once more. Dorian's staring up at me, holding the bottom half of my cleaning device just a few inches away from his dripping face. "You're not fantasizing?" I question, though it's phrased as more of a statement. That's weird. Usually, he's always lost in some crazy daydream.

But anyway, he ignores my last phrase—that's pushing it—and snaps back, "you should watch where you put that thing!"

By 'thing', I assume he's referring to my mop. Poor Steve. He doesn't like people calling him genderless. Well old buddy, Dorian's already on my nerves, and now he's on yours….that is if mops have nerves; I'm not really sure….anyway, he's still lying on the floor, pretty defenseless. So let's make him—

"Oh, Janitor! There you are!"

Uh oh. That's Blond doctor's voice. Instantly I freeze. I don't want her knowing that I'm actually mean to people when she's not around. Okay….keep a clear head, put on a smile—no not an evil one—and act normal….

….right….Dorian's still on the ground….but she's coming closer! Quick, pretend he's part of the floor! Without much thought, I plant the bottom of my mop firmly on his face, and move it slightly back and forth, giving the illusion that I'm actually cleaning something.

"Hey!" Blond doctor exclaims, "You're actually cleaning something."

I nod. "Yep. Figured it was about time I did some more work around here." She's standing behind a counter, so she can't see the crazed man pinned to the ground. Or hear his muffled protests against me. I quickly press down harder with my mop. Quiet. Floors don't talk.

I turn back to Blond doctor, "you wanted something?" I inquire, in my best gentleman interpretation.

"Right! Right!" She answers, remembering, "One of the patients down the hallway threw up. It's all over the floor and really creating a problem. I was wondering…." She glanced at Steve "….and seeing as to how you're already mopping your way there" she laughs—It isn't funny, but I humor her anyway, "do you think you could clean it up for me?"

I pause—only for dramatic effect—before increasing my false smile. "I'd be happy to." I say, making sure to sound sincere, "Just let me finish cleaning this spot." I hear Dorian make a noise, and jab him again.

But Blond doctor doesn't seem to notice, and she too, grins. "Thanks, Janitor!" She chimes happily.

"Hey, no problem."

She nods this time, and turns to go. However, before she does, she says, "You know, I don't know why JD says you're so mean. You don't seem that way at all to me."

I shrug. "Ah, he's just jealous. They _all_ are."

A confused look "Who are—" She starts, before thinking better of it. "Oh never mind." Now she really is leaving, "thanks again, by the way."

I watch her go, all the while throwing small looks at Dorian, to make sure he stays securely on the floor, until Blond doctor's out of sight. When the coast is clear, I remove my mop and let him up.

"Jealous?! Are you _serious_?!" He shouts, wiping his face. Wow, he's annoying today—I mean, more than usual.

"I call them as I see them." I state simply, using my free hand to point in a random direction. "Now go."

"What?"

I sigh. Nothing's getting through to him is it? "Go. You're no fun to tortu—bother when you're in a bad mood. Kind of ruins my job."

"Oh really?! Then what would you like me to do, huh?! Walk in through the entrance, a big ol' smile on my face, completely content with the world around me, until you come and ruin my fun with whatever damned scheme of yours you happened to come up with that day?!"

I pretend to think about it. "Yes." I say after a moment.

Dorian glares at me, and it's then that I notice something….different….in his eyes. "Well guess _what_!! He cries, visibly shaking now. "I'd sooner _kill myself_ then give you the pleasure of doing it for me!!!!!"

His voice dies then, and his eyes widen; pure, undoubted fear crossing his face. I have to admit, I'm shocked as well. _Kill himself_? He can't really mean that, can he? I mean, yes I enjoy tormenting him—I wouldn't actually go so far as to _kill_ him. Then all my fun would be over. And I'm pretty sure, despite all the grueling situations I put him through, that he knows this. If he didn't, you can bet he would have stopped coming to work a long time ago. Still….

….why say something like that? What's going on in that head of yours, Dorian?

Apparently, he doesn't know either, because, without second thought—or a wary glance at me—he turns around, and begins hurriedly walking in the opposite direction.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**JD's POV**

I can feel my heart hammering in my chest as I head down the hallway, each thump punctuated with a stab of fear. I didn't mean it, did I? What I shouted at the Janitor….I didn't….I'm not actually thinking about _that_….am I?

I come to a stop, clutching at my chest, as I try to calm down….try to think rationally about this. Okay, so I did say I'd kill myself. I was just mad at the Janitor—I lost my temper—he was mopping my damn face, after all. I wasn't actually thinking about it….I mean….even with the state I'm in….things aren't so bad I'd consider taking my life….

….right?

Now hold on a minute JD—don't go giving up hope yet. Let's see what the odds against you are. Well, for starters, my body's a total wreck. I haven't been sleeping….eating….and now there's a sharp pain in my back from where I fell earlier. Second, the people around me are either too busy, too oblivious, or just flat out don't care to notice something's wrong with me. Plus, I'm currently trying to avoid one of them—because I know what's going to happen if….

"Well there, Nancy, what brings you to this side of the hospital, hmm?"

Oh no.

I drop my hand and bring it up instead to massage my temples—still have that damned headache—and draw in a breath. Maybe if he sees that I'm distracted, he'll walk right by and leave me alone.

Instead, he whistles. "Newbie, I'm _talking_ to you."

"Yes, Dr. Cox," I snap bitterly, turning to face him, "I hear you. _Loud_ and _clear_, actually."

He at first remains quiet—a bad sign—before an expression of mock surprise flashes across his face. "So I _wasn't_ imagining things this morning." He observes, and my free hand curls into a fist at my side, "you really _have_ grown a pair over night. Impressive."

"What do you _want_, Perry?" I ask sharply, trying my best to restrain myself from hitting him, "I'm _busy_." Okay, so that last part was a lie; I just don't feel like dealing with him at the moment—too many things on my mind.

Unfortunately, Dr. Cox can see right through me. "If by 'busy' you mean trying to relearn putting in an IV and all those other re-heally easy things you learned back when you were an intern, hell, even before, then by all means, Alice, go right ahead."

Dammit, so he heard about this morning.

"However, if _not_, then you'd better have a _damn_ good reason to be sitting around when there are patients around you that need treatment." The sarcasm and mockery is gone, and Dr. Cox is now stone serious.

Well, serious or not, I do have a reason…. "Actually," I start, dropping my other hand "there is—"

Suddenly, he's right in my face. "Listen here, newbie," He hisses, his voice dangerous but low so the patients can't hear, "I don't know what issues you may have in your life right now, but the fact remains that, no matter what the circumstances are, you're a doctor. A _professional_. And you do not let your personal problems get in the way of your work, understand?" His eyes are cold and menacing, full of a kind of dangerous power. "Now put your fist away, and get the hell over here." He concludes, beckoning for me to follow him.

My shoulders sag, my hand unclenches, and though I'm still angry, I trudge after him. Because he's right. I _should_ be putting my patients first. Even if my life sucks, even if I feel like everyone's abandoned me….and even if I'm starting to mistrust my own rationality, I need to remember—to take care of—my patients. They _are_ the sole reason I even bothered getting out of bed this morning.

But as I continue to follow Dr. Cox, I'm starting to wonder if I really can put my personal problems aside this time. He said so himself—despite the fact that it was an insult—that my skills are off today, and if rounds are any indication, then I believe him. So if I can't pull off even the simplest tasks, then what happens when I have an emergency on my hands?

"….Megan, didja hear me?"

Crap. Daydreaming or not, I managed to somehow miss whatever it was Dr. Cox was saying.

But, as always, he picks up on it, and after making an abrupt hissing sound, he says, "I just _asked_ you if you happened to have that paperwork I specifically asked you to do."

Oh _shit_. The paperwork. I completely forgot about that. Dammit. It's still lying around my living room, untouched—a few pages; left over from another emotional outburst last night. Shit. Shit shit _shit_. That same, uncomfortable lump is back in my stomach now, and I'm faced with two options. Either answer Dr. Cox—which I really don't want to do—or just walk away. Whatever I decide, he's still going to come after me, insult me, crush that one final thread of self-confidence I have in myself.

"Brittany," he says in an aggravated tone "when I ask you a question, I expect you to answer me. Now, let's try this again; do you or do you _not_ have those papers?"

My mouth opens, but all that comes out are a few sputtering noises—my eyes are darting frantically around the room, looking for any possible distraction to separate me from my current situation. Anything that doesn't risk—

"Ah Perry! _There_ you are!"

Oh thank goodness, it's Dr. Kelso. I've never been so glad to hear his voice. However, I can't say the same for Dr. Cox. Uttering an elongated sigh, his jaw tightens, but he remains looking at me. Dammit.

"Bob, _can't_ you see I'm in the middle of something?"

Typically, this would be where any other doctor would have taken a moment to consider their response. However, Dr. Kelso wasn't _any other doctor_. "Perry, as much as I enjoy watching you torture other people, there's an important matter I need you take care of." He pauses, then makes a swooping gesture with his arm, "shall we step into my office?"

Dr. Cox growls, his eyes narrowing in my direction as an unspoken promise of "finishing this later." Yay. Can't wait.

I must have let some unusual expression show on my face, because suddenly, Kelso says something I don't expect. "As for you, sport…."

"Y-Yes sir?" I'm stuttering now? The _hell_ is that about?

"….why don't you take the rest of the day _off_? We're already over-staffed as it is, and besides, I'm sure your patients will be fine for a day without your care."

What? Is he serious?! A day off?

….a day off….

"Actually, Dr. Kelso, sir….I, uh—"

"Dammit, Dorian! I'm not asking you, I'm _telling_ you. You're clearly in no condition to work and the hospital will not be responsible for any screw up you happen to make just because you think it's your 'duty' to come in every morning. Now get your ass out of here before I have to _throw_ you out."

I don't know if he was trying to do me a favor, or trying to protect the hospital from another lawsuit. Either way, I ended up with words stuck in my throat as I gradually began inching away from him. I'm not really sure if Kelso cares or not, I was just relieved to get away from Dr. Cox.

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**JD's POV (continued)**

Except I didn't go home.

I went to Sacred Heart's cafeteria.

Sure, I don't really want to be at the hospital right now….but for some reason, I don't want to be _alone_ either.

I don't….I don't _trust myself_ enough to be alone. I mean, _yeah_, what I said to the Janitor was probably spoken out of anger….but, as this day continues, I've noticed myself getting progressively worse—hell—I was so close to crying earlier—multiple times, actually—it was kind of alarming. And when even the slightest thing seems to go wrong, there's this….this sort of….compressing feeling in my chest….like everything I keep to myself keeps building to the point where I just want to….well, it feels like it's going to explode. And if it gets bad enough….

….well, an unstable doctor unsupervised and with access to potentially fatal materials isn't exactly going to end well.

My head lowers then, falling into my hands—elbows resting on the table—as I stare at the tray before me. There's nothing on it, but it's there just in case I manage to convince myself to get up and get some food.…

….like that's going to happen. Despite my protesting stomach, and the constant nausea….I just….I just don't have the energy to eat. Hell, I hardly have any energy at all.

I lean forward then, to the point where I'm almost literally laying on the table. This sucks. I'm on the verge of I don't know _what_, and even though people around me should be doing something to help, I've never felt more alone in my life….

"….Hey Carla, have you seen JD today?"

"Only this morning, Elliot. But if I were you, I wouldn't bother looking for him. He's a little…."

"_What_?"

"….what I mean is, he seemed distracted this morning."

Elliot? Carla?! Instantly I sit bolt upright, startled by not only their voices but their choice of conversation topic. Turning my head in the direction of their voices, I'm hit with a severe shock when I see them sitting only two tables away from. Just _two tables_.

"Distracted?" Elliot continues, "you mean, _more_ than usual?"

Oh thanks, Elliot. That's real nice.

"mm, more like a different kind of distracted." Carla corrects, pointing her finger at her for emphasis. "you should have seen him during rounds"

Elliot nods, "oh yeah. I heard about that." Dammit, _her_ too?

"Yeah, but that wasn't nearly as weird as what happened in the bathroom."

Hold on. That's _Turk's_ voice. What's he doing over there? Didn't….didn't he notice me….?

I continue to sit at my table, watching them, but now my shock is replaced by a painful stab of betrayal. Betray and _anger_.

"Why, what happened 'in the bathroom?'" Elliot asks hesitantly, one of her eyebrows raising. Turk's expression flattens.

"Nothing like _that_, woman!" He articulates. "I'm trying to be serious here."

Elliot holds up a hand in apology. "Turk, I was kidding," She confesses, back to being serious "now, _what's_ going on with JD?"

"Right." And now Turk's serious too. "Well, I went in there, right? Preparing to you know…. 'refresh myself' and go back to work. But when I get in there, I see JD standing by the mirror, and he's got this really scared look on his face—wide eyes, jaw dropping—know what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Turk, I know exactly what you're saying!!" They all jump, and their heads snap my way. That's _it._ I have had _enough_ of this. "What you're _all_ saying!"

"JD! How long have—"

"Oh just shut up!" I shriek, standing up so fast that I don't even realize my knee rammed into the table, "shut up all of you! You think I don't get it?! That I don't _see_ what's going on here?!"

"Dude, what are you—"

"Save it, Turk!!" I scream, thrusting back my chair and knocking my tray to the ground. "I know exactly what's going on here! You think you're all so clever—going about your lives, pretending everything's just _perfect_. "Nothing's seems wrong, so why should I care?—what the hell _are_ you, blind?! Are you honestly telling me that's how you all see yourselves?! That if you ignore everything it will all be okay?!"

"JD, we don't—"

" 'Don't don't'—_don't_ what!? Don't think there's anything _wrong_?! _Yeah_, apparently!" They look scared now, but it doesn't affect me. I'm _done_ caring. About them….about everything. "You _embarrass_ me…._brush me off_….and now _this_! You completely ignore me even though I'm sitting right _here_. Right where _everyone can see me_!!!!! What is this to you, huh?! Some kind of _game_!? "Hey, let's toy with JD's emotions and make him believe we don't care" Well here's a news flash for you, _assholes_—it _isn't_ a game, okay?! And I'm not just some toy you can play with!! I'm human _too_, I have problems _too_! And whether you think I'm complaining, or trying to compete….or just wasting your time then _fine_!!"

My body is shaking again, so badly I can hardly stand up, and there's now a searing pain in my knee. But I don't care. Not anymore.

I glare at them—hard and long—feeling the swell of contorted emotions boiling within me. "I'm done with this." I snap, tears stinging my eyes, "and I'm done with you!!"

Without waiting around for their answer, I bolt out of the room so fast the only thing I can hear is my pounding heart, and short, punctuated breaths as that last shred of self-respect, of self-confidence….of any hope I had at all….finally cracks.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Wow. **

**That's really all I can say about this last part…..that, and I think I may have rushed it juuuuuuuuuuust a bit. Or not—I mean, this chapter IS a few pages longer that the other two. But considering what I have planned for the next few chapters, I wanted to get all of this in one chapter.**

**That aside: I had sooooooo much fun writing as the Janitor XDDDDD I'd done it before, just not in the 1****st**** person before, so it was interesting and amusing to do. **

**As for JD, well, I feel so bad for him, especially the way this chapter ended….**

**Oh yeah, and the reason I did the "JD's POV continued" thing, was cuz I wanted to stay in his POV, but do a brief time skip. **

**Well, that's it! **

**Don't forget to review, and stay tuned for the next chapter!!!!!**


	4. My accident

**Hi guys! I'm back, and so is chapter four of this story!! It took a little longer than I would have liked, but that's because a lot happens in this chapter….**

…**.you'll see what I mean. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this—I like it, even though it was a bit harder to write than the last three were.**

**oh! A shoutout to my friend, hurkydoesntknow, for helping me with Kelso's "assignment" in the beginning of this chapter!**

**And remember: review review review!! :D**

**---------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Dr. Cox's POV**

"Make this quick Bob, I don't have all day." I snap as I follow the old man into his office. He doesn't reply; he just keeps on walking until he reaches his desk—not only ignoring my comment but obviously expecting me to shut the door behind us. Damn that pisses me off.

"Perry, the longer you stand there hating this, the longer you're going to be in here." I hear him say, and though my lip curls at his remark, I keep my mouth shut and slam the door.

"Well, are you going to sit down?" Kelso asks, gesturing to the chair conveniently placed on the other side of his desk. He pushes it towards me with his feet—wow his shoes look expensive—and it's then I realize the only way out of this, no matter how much it pains me, is to consent and listen to what he has to say. So even though every ounce of my being is screaming in protest, I reluctantly take the seat opposite him and prepare myself for whatever heinous speech I just know Kelso is going to make. I cross my arms, impatiently waiting for him to start.

Oh how I wish I was somewhere—anywhere—else. I may not be afraid of Bob like some of the other girls in this dump, but that doesn't change the fact that he is constantly getting on my nerves. Hell, I can hardly stand working in the same hospital let alone sit in the same—

"Oh stop making faces; it's not going to be that bad."

"Hm?" Faces? Me? No….n—actually, it's possible. I _was_ on the verge of zoning out much like Janice does on a daily basis, and I _do_ hate Kelso with a violent passion _and_, as I was thinking about it there _is_ indeed a chance I _could_ be emphasizing my thoughts with various facial expressions.

"I will do whatever the hell I want." I decide to clarify, before leaning back in my chair, "that aside, how about you hurry up and get this nonsense over with so I can go back to how'd you say "torturing other people?""

If it were anyone else in this hospital, I know I'd have received a reaction somewhere between a slap across the face—to which I'd have to senselessly _beat_ them after—or a sharp, verbal retaliation. However, Bob and I have been at each other's throats for the past twenty years, so he's learned—and this goes both ways—to ignore any remark I may say that would have once gotten under his skin.

At least, for the most part.

"Perry," he begins, his hands interlaced on his desk, "the reason I asked you in here is because there's something important I need you to do for me."

I envision myself rolling my eyes. "Ya mentioned that earlier." I remind him, even though I know he wasn't forgotten, "but I'm still sitting on the edge of my seat wondering just what could be so important that you chose to assign it to little ol' me??" Bothered by it or not, I really can't refrain from using sarcasm when around Kelso. He has this….vibe….about him that practically _begs_ me to mock him. Of course, so does everyone else I come across, but Bobbo here is slightly different. Maybe it's because, while I thoroughly enjoy getting under his skin, I know he can take it. All this crap I give him—if he were actually upset by it, things wouldn't be nearly as fun.

Plus, there's no way any come back he manages to make will ever catch me by surprise—

"The reason I 'chose' you, _Dr. Cox_, is because of your….talent….breaking in new doctors."

—Or _not_. "Come again?" I ask, not sure if I was hearing him correctly. "Did you say "new doctors?""

His eyebrow raised; his face curling into that irritating smile—like he knows his upcoming explanation is going to piss me off. "That's right, I did. Although to be precise, it's only _one_ new doctor. I need you to pick him up at that quaint little café a few blocks away from the hospital. See, his car broke down, and as he's still recuperating from a knee surgery he had last month, the only way he'd make it here today—I need to see if he's the right man for the job before he permanently settles in—was if someone picked him up and drove him."

There's no volume, but I can tell he's silently laughing at me. "So of course, you were the natural selection, what with that hot-shot Porsche of yours parked out front, and your _superior_ attitude as a doctor."

My jaw muscles start clenching and my eyes widen to their full extent, anger rising in my chest as Kelso's words sink in. "What. The _hell_, Bob!" I scream, banging my fist hard against the surface of his desk. The photos and papers on the table fly an inch or so in the air, but the old bastard doesn't flinch.

"Something wrong?" He questions, grinning victoriously. Damn it Kelso!

"You mind telling me what the _hell_ you're doing?! And more importantly, _why_?!"

The damned son of a bitch _still_ doesn't flinch; he just cocks his head to side and says "Why what? The new doctor?" His eyes narrow "or the fact that I'm sending _you_ to go pick him up?"

"First of all, we don't need another dumbass doctor roaming the halls of this hell-hole you call a hospital! You said so yourself that we're overstaffed and because of _that_ combined with the amount of cash you continuously spend on _yourself _I'm guessing there isn't enough money left to scrape together a decent paycheck let alone pay this guy full-time." Dammit I am _so_ mad right now! "Secondly," I continue, "I am not nor will I ever be somebody's chauffer. I am—as you already stated—a doctor; one of the best too I might add. And there is absolutely _no way_ I'd _ever_ stoop so low as to drive around some idiot whose ranked lower than I am."

Kelso leans forward then, meeting my glare with one of his own. "Look—this soon to be employee is very important to me _and_ Sacred Heart—at least, he will be—so despite my reasons and _yes_, I do have reasons, you _will_ do what I say, like it or not. _Got it_?"

My fingernails dig into the wooden surface, and it's all I can do to prevent myself from lunging across the desk and strangling that fat little neck of—

"U-Um….Dr. Kelso?"

Now distracted, the old bastard looks at the door, and the nervous voice coming from behind it.

Damned interns—I'm more than positive that's whose on the other side of that door—with the exception of Ted, no one stutters when addressing Kelso anymore; afraid or not.

Definitely a rookie mistake.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure you can deal with it on your own!" He responds, dismissing the younger doctor. Typically, I'd bust his chops about it, but quite frankly, interns annoy the hell outta me.

"B-But s-sir…." Dammit, he's—the voice is male—still there. Maybe after strangling Kelso, I'll go after _him_. "There's um….a….problem….down in the lab and uh…."

"I'm sure it's nothing you and some of the others can't handle." He's no longer looking at the door—his interest is apparently gone.

So is mine, actually.

We wait for a moment, previous dispute temporarily forgotten—listening and wondering if whoever was behind the door had left. I hope so. To be honest, I'd rather go toe to toe with old Bobbo then have to put up with—

"A-actually….um….things are….uh, well….I-I really think you should….um, uh c-come down there—because….er…."

"Alright alright!" Kelso cries, cutting off and shutting up the nervous intern. "Just hold on a minute."

He throws me a look, and that knot of rage tightens in my chest. "I'm not opening the door for him." I state "I'm just not."

Kelso frowns. "You're closer." He protest, nodding towards it. Dammit, he's right.

Reluctantly, I get out of my chair and reach for the door handle, hearing the quick, loud breaths of the intern from behind it. Hating the fact that I know Kelso's loving every minute of this; I turn the knob and open the door—now staring face to face with a young, dark-haired, male doctor.

Averting his gaze from me, the intern looks instead at the bastard still sitting at his desk.

"Er…um….s-sir?" Holy _crap_ will you stop with the stuttering?!

"Oh don't worry, sport," I hear Kelso say. "_Dr. Cox_ here is going to accompany you to the lab. That's why he's standing in the doorway."

What?! Why that—

"Isn't that right, Perry?"

I whirl back around, glaring daggers at him. We're locked in a staring contest for a minute or two, until a nervous throat clear from the intern breaks it, and I'm forced to make a decision.

Gritting my teeth to stop myself from audibly protesting, I turn to the intern, and mutter sharply "let's go."

He nods, but remains silent—sensing how annoyed I am. Smart kid.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

**Dr. Cox's POV (continued)**

Time passes quickly, and before I know it, we're standing in front of the lab. This could be because the entire way down I kept fantasizing the many ways I could enact my revenge on Kelso—all of which, unfortunately, ended up with him dead and me behind bars— _or_ because the intern before me thought I just might murder him if he stopped moving. Whatever the reason, I don't really care. I just want to straighten this whole thing out before I actually _am_ tempted to kill the stuttering idiot standing to my right.

"Well?" I bark, snapping my head in his direction, "Did you lead me down here just for kicks, or is there a legitimate reason for it?"

"Yes well….I told you….there's a disturbance and—"

"Disturbance disturbance—you mind telling me _what _it is that was so over your head ya _couldn't_ take care of it on your own?"

The intern is now throwing nervous glances at the lab door. Come to think of it, we're not directly in front of it, but off to the side. That's….that's odd.

"In _there_…."

Now he's pointing at the door. What the hell is going on here? "Mind _showing_ me?" I ask, my patience ticking away for each second I spend conversing with this guy. However, he shakes his head, and takes a step back. My eyelid twitches. Is he for _real_? "Forget it." I growl, continuing on my own.

That's what I hate about interns; they've dug themselves so far into their comfort zone that as soon as something unexpected comes their way they freeze up and expect us more experienced doctors to deal with it for them.

I'm in front of the door now—back to being as pissed as I was earlier—and searching for whatever it is that damn kid thought was so….

….holy shit. Holy _shit_.

The entire room is completely destroyed. Tables are over turned, the computers are not only sprawled across the ground but some of them are actually _broken_, chairs are everywhere….and the rest of the lab equipment has either been shattered or thrown all over the floor.

And there's blood everywhere.

What….what the hell happened in here?! It's like a hurricane passed through or somethi—

It's then I notice a shaking figure hunched over one of the still standing tables at the far end of the room. I can tell—for obvious reasons—that he's male, though he's unnaturally thin….and his skin has an unhealthy tone to it. He's leaning heavily on the table, clutching his head with his hands….hands that, as I look closer, have been badly torn at the knuckles—damn I think part of the bone is exposed—and some of the fingers look distorted.

Has this guy been _physically beating_ the equipment?

I don't even have to answer that. Of course he has. There's no other explanation.

But….

….a lump forms in my throat, and I can make a painful guess as to why he did it….even though, the last time I checked….I—

Hang on. What's that sound? My ears tune in to my surroundings, for the first time realizing that the silence I once thought inhabited this place was in fact, being interrupted by harsh—though at the same time pitiful—noises.

I….I don't believe this. He's _crying_, too? What kind of….

Oh no. _No_. Those light blue scrubs—worn over a long-sleeved shirt, that dark, well-kept hair….that scrawny—though now more than usual—body….

The lump drops to my stomach as it hits me….hard.

I _know_ that man.

"N-Newbie?" I ask, too shocked to keep the stammer out of my voice. Oh please let me be mistaken….please let it be someone else….

I have no such luck, as he immediately spins around—so fast I'm almost sure he'll fall over. "Newbie, what the—"

But when his gaze meets mine, the words die in my throat. His eyes….they're blotchy and red….tears pouring down the sides of his sunken face….and there's a wild….almost foreign….look in each one—like a part of him doesn't even recognize me…._or_ what he's just done.

It's like staring into the eyes of a crazy man.

"Why the…." I managed, failing to cover up my alarm at the situation "….the _hell _did you _do_ this?!"

He jumps, hiccupping as he continues to cry—dammit, I guess I sounded a little too harsh. But how am I supposed to react? I've never seen him act this way before. It's so…so….

It's then, right as I trying to figure out what I can say to fix this that he decides to move. Eyes locked straight ahead—though passing right through me—he quickly moves towards the door.

I try again to say something—anything—but he's out the door before I have the chance; jabbing his shoulder into mine has he goes.

I'd kill him for that.

But it wouldn't be right.

Not like this.

I stand there for a minute or two, hands behind my head, before taking a deep breath and going after him.

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**JD's POV**

I hate Dr. Cox. I hate Sacred Heart.

I hate my _life_.

It's been what—not even a full work day? Something like that—and I've not only been convinced no one cares about me but now I've got actual _proof_.

He yelled at me.

I completely lost control in the lab and he _yelled_ at me. No sympathetic look; no "JD, are you okay?" And—though this I half expected—no hug. He just….just stood there, and as usual, called me "Newbie" and flipped when he saw me.

Damn you, Perry.

I mean, _yes_ I destroyed a lot of equipment, but is that the only thing you noticed? What about….what about _me_? Didn't you even _see_ me? The….the condition I was in?

Am….am _still_….in?

"Sh-shit…." I mutter, burying my head further in my lap. It hurts so much….this—this feeling in my chest. Of….of _abandonment_….betrayal….

….more than the amount of physical pain I'm in. My back still hurts, I can't walk properly without my knee throbbing, and if I even move my hands slightly, a sharp twinge of agony goes shooting through my fingers. Chances are, I probably broke something.

But I don't really care.

I let out a sob then, pulling my body closer to the wall of the hospital. I can't take this anymore. It's too hard….too painful….Dammit! It feels like my heart's been ripped right out of my body.

….I _wish_.

I'd….I'd honestly rather be….be…._dead_….then have to put up with this. To have to suffer all alone like I'm doing….hell, if I were standing on the hospital roof I most likely would have already jumped—and there's that stab of fear again; the last remaining bit of common sense I have…._and_ the only reason I'm _not_ standing on the roof right now, saying my final goodbyes to the world. Instead, I'm sitting against the wall of the building—by the parking lot but off to the side. I needed somewhere to go….away from _them_….and this was the only place I could think of that didn't come with any sort of….temptation….

Sure, there are cars and other vehicles—I can see them as I look up—but most of them are parked and—

—Hey, who's that?

There's a….a kid?....wandering around the parking lot. That's a bit strange. Why would a kid be….

"Jack, stay by the car, sweetie. I just need to put your sister in her seat and then I'll help you, okay?"

My stomach churns. That's _Jordan's_ voice. Which means the little brat in the street is her—and _Dr. Cox's_—son, Jack.

The feeling in my stomach turns to revulsion as I stare furiously at the little boy. That damned kid of that damned son of a bitch I was stupid enough to call "my mentor." It's not fair. Why should he be the one with a connected family? Why should he get to see his son—_and_ daughter—every single day after work?

Why does _he_ get to be happy and I _don't_?

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**Dr. Cox's POV**

I am going to kill Bob Kelso. And I mean that this time. Prison or not, that bastard has some nerve. Forcing me down here….I told him about….what happened in the lab….and _Newbie_….but it doesn't change his mind and now I'm sitting in my car gripping the existence out of my steering wheel, as I pull out of my parking space.

I swear Bob….if Newbie does something _stupid_ while I'm gone….I'll….

Well, I may _just_ have to act on one or more of my fantasies from earlier. Hell, I _definitely_ will.

Now fuming, I slam my foot on the gas pedal. Oh I'll pick up this new doctor….but it won't be in the manner old Bobbo will approve of.

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**JD's POV**

Fresh tears are streaming down my face, but I can't take my eyes off Jack. I don't know what it is about him; maybe it's how much he looks like Perry, even though he's just a kid….maybe it's that he's reminding me of all the changes my own son will go through as he gets older….changes that I'll probably miss….

….or it could be because of the car driving towards him waaaay over the speed limit.

Wait, what?!

Wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I make sure I'm not seeing things….

….I'm not. Dammit.

Well….it's nothing to worry about, right? The driver will probably notice the kid and put on the breaks or something….

….provided they're able to stop a car moving at that speed. Of course, Jordan could always pull him out of the way….but _she's_ distracted with her daughter. Most likely won't realize her son's in potential danger until it's too late.

Argh, why the hell do I keep poking holes in my theories?!

I watch for a few more seconds; my eyes shifting to the car, Jack, and Jordan, hoping something will happen to affect the outcome I know is coming. Doesn't matter who….just _one_ of them….the driver….Jordan….even the boy. Just….Just something to tip the scales….so I know whether to get involved or not….

I'm suddenly reminded of my early days as a resident; how, when left alone one night, Turk, Elliot and I couldn't decide which method of treatment to use on a patient whose vitals remained the same. We kept hoping they'd either go up or down….that the decision would be made for us….so we wouldn't have to live with any repercussions that might….

....and then, something happens that I don't expect. Whatever self-pity I'd been wallowing in abruptly clears, my body snaps into action— and I find myself racing towards the boy in the middle of the street. It doesn't matter what self-doubt I'm feeling. I'm not going to revert back to the way I was six years ago. I'm a doctor—I make decisions….and—more importantly—I save lives. Including his….

….I know it's going to hurt, but that isn't really important right now. With an effort, I'm there, right in the heat of things, and before he even realizes it, I shove Jack Cox out of the way, just as a searing pain erupts in each of my hands. I immediately retract my arms, and am in the process of keeling over; swearing viciously.

However….that's the last thing out of my mouth….as any other words I could have possibly thought of were cut off as a fountain of blood spills from my mouth….something launching itself into my torso.

Sh-shit….was t-that the….

I feel the surface around me disappear—I must be in the air now—but it's short lived, as I'm suddenly thrown to the ground. Ah damn….everything's spinning around me….I can't even think straight….

My back hits the ground first, and it's then I'm aware of the burning agony in my chest. Shit, what just happened to me?! Did I—

But as soon as my head bangs against the gravel, it suddenly becomes harder to focus….my senses seem blinded by the stinging sensation at the back of my head. As I lay there, frozen in a state of shock and pain, my surroundings start growing fuzzy….little black spots appearing before my eyes.

The last thing I hear before losing consciousness is two….no three….voices; all headed in my direction. One's Jordan's, who's calling the name of her son….the second voice—and though I can't tell, he seems to be safe….

The third voice though, is the farthest away, and even though I struggle to make it out, my body can't take it anymore….

….and just as I pass out, I'm surprised by how familiar it sounds….

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**Dr. Cox's POV**

"Shit shit _shit_!" I scream, slamming the breaks of my Porsche. That was my son—just then—standing in the road….I swear it….my Jackie-boy....was right there, right in front of me….

My heart is pounding relentlessly in my chest, and my stomach squirms.

I almost killed my son. I almost _killed_ my _son_! Shit!

The car's stopped finally, and I struggle with the damned door handle until I nearly pull it off, before realizing it was locked. Frantically, I unlock and shove the door open, nearly tripping as I wrestle my seat belt and get out of the car.

Dammit where is he?! Where's Jack?! Beads of sweat dot my forehead and my throat tightens with fear.

"JACK?!" I call, anxiously searching around. Shit, maybe….maybe I _did_ actually hit—

"What the _fuck_, Perry!!"

I turn. "J-Jordan?"

Sure enough, she's running this way, her dark eyes blazing with distress and disbelief. "Do you know what you almost did?! Are you that preoccupied that you didn't even see our son right in front of you?!"

She's mad….but I don't blame her. I really don't….hold on…._she_ said "almost." That means….

I notice then that Jordan's attention has been drawn away from me, and following her not only with my eyes but with actual movement, that surge of terror loosens around my throat, when I see that she's kneeling off to the side, her arms wrapped around a crying—but _alive_—four year old boy. Oh thank goodness. He's okay. Jack's okay. Which means that I must have hit….

….that other guy….

"Dammit!" I shriek, rushing past my ex-wife and son to the front of my Porsche, and the last place I briefly saw the figure who saved my son's life. Although I'm eternally grateful for their services, it feels….a little hollow….after all, I _was_ driving unusually fast—can't be helped, I was pissed—but even so, anyone hit by my car at that speed is not going to come away unscathed. I just hope whoever it was isn't dead….or fatally injured….that would only add unwanted guilt to the amount I'm already….

….Oh _shit_! SHIT!

My eyes widen, and suddenly, I'm absolutely petrified. No….no no no!

Instantly, I'm down on my knees, my hands on the shoulders of the man lying before me. "N-Newbie?" I ask, nudging him slightly. He doesn't move. "Newbie! Wake up!" I try shaking him again, but stop when I notice the amount of blood staining his scrubs. And, as I look closer—his hair. Dammit! A head wound….shit this is bad….and to make matters worse, the 'stain' I first saw on his scrubs shirt is gradually increasing….dammit. If he keeps bleeding like this, he won't last long. He's already so pale he could be….

My heart starts hammering again, each beat punctuated by my growing alarm, and now I'm hastily trying to find a pulse.

"Come on, JD…." I whisper, before holding my breath and checking for any possible sign he's still alive. "stay with me here…."

For a second, I feel nothing, and I'm hit with a violent wave of panic….

….wait….

Found it.

He does have one, but it's so faint....

Instantly, I stand up; looking for any other hospital personal in the parking lot I can send inside to get a stretcher and some extra hands….all the while trying to keep my senses. This is not good. JD needs help. _Now_.


	5. His discovery

**Well, here's chapter five!! Hope I haven't kept you guys waiting all that long—this one was a bit harder to write than the others (I seem to say that a lot as this story progresses) but it's finally finished!!**

**Enjoy!!**

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**Dr. Cox's POV**

I'm temporarily blinded by the white, overhead bulbs lighting the corridor of the ER, bright green splotches now decorating my vision as I dash alongside the man being wheeled in the stretcher….the man that—as of ten minutes ago—has been in a state of unconsciousness, dangerously close to dying of blood loss.

At least, that's one possible way he could go. We won't know the extent of his injuries until we run a few tests….

….but they don't look good. Doctor or not, it doesn't take medical knowledge to see that much.

"Dammit, Newbie…." I mutter, tearing my gaze away from straight ahead and glancing at his still form lying in the stretcher, my heart beat escalating as I watch a lesser doctor shakily trying to keep the oxygen mask over his mouth and nose in place, while keeping up with myself and the other doctors all hovering around the unconscious man. They're all at some lower level of experience than I am—the panic and alarm showing clearly on their young faces. But hell, they were the best I could find on such short notice—actually, to walk into the parking lot shortly after I….after the accident—and as long as they don't kill the guy before we get down there, then it doesn't matter just _how_ old or experienced they are.

Because, quite frankly, I've got _their_ heightened emotions beat by a long-shot.

The one holding down the oxygen mask opens her mouth to address the man opposite her, the tone loud and forceful. Even as she continues to speak, he begins hastily adjusting some equipment around—he too, yelling at the other man at the head of the stretcher, who now seems to be signaling to someone or something—I can't actually tell. My senses seemed to have shut down. Everything around me has swerved into some hazy chaotic blur—their words drained away by the echoing of my hammering heart in my ears. _Your fault your fault your fault_ each pulse seems to say, growing louder, harder and faster, until I'm literally struggling to breath.

"Dr. Cox!" The young female cries, snapping back my attention. My head turns so fast I probably pulled something, and I swallow hard to clear the invisible knot lodged in my throat.

"What?!" I answer curtly, fighting against the anxiety that's threatening to take over the remaining composure I have on myself.

Where, in a typical situation, younger staff members would have jumped at a harsh response like that, this time, when I lock eyes with this woman, she holds firm, undoubtedly preoccupied with the situation beforehand.

"I know standard procedure in this case would be to run some tests," she begins, her pace slowing as the stretcher and those around it come to a gradual halt, "but unless we find away to stop the bleeding, there's a possibility Dr. Dorian might start hemmoraging, and if that happens, he won't survive long enough to go through them." She pauses here, risking a quick glance at the still man, who, even as we speak, is rapidly losing what little color he has left in his face.

_Your fault your fault your fault…._

"…do what you have to do" I reply, temporarily losing hold and allowing uncertainty to slip into my voice.

She looks up at me then, joined in unison by the other three. "Sir….?"

"You heard me, dammit!" I shriek, suddenly angry, "do whatever the hell you have to do—I don't care what—but keep that son of a bitch alive!!"

Their eyes are still on me, but it only adds fire to the flames. "Got it?!" I add, exhaling sharply. There's no verbal response, from any of them—but I don't give a damn so long as I get _one_. Which, after an irritating moment or two longer, I finally did. A small, but apparent, nod from the woman I was just speaking to.

"Good." I growl, before turning my back on them, preparing to head down the rest of the corridor on my own. "I'll be back shortly. Page me if anything goes wrong…." I take a few steps forward, "….although you better hope with everything you've got that it _doesn't_."

With that, I'm officially done with them, and any questions regarding my taking off are immediately ignored.

….because truth be told….I could care less where they think I' going.

Hell, I don't even _know_.

I….I just need to get away from all of this….to clear my head….

….To take some time for….for it all to register….

To come to terms with….with what I've just done….and the numerous consequences that could come from it.

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**Turk's POV**

I don't always get opportunities like this—usually I'm swamped with performing constant surgeries for patients in the ICU. That's all very well and good—hell, it's awesome that I can do something to help those people live longer—but, and I would never admit this to anyone else, even _I _can get bored after a while. I mean _yes_, they're all in serious condition, so the surgeries they undergo are often long and complicated….

….but after performing said surgeries after so many years, the fun, risk, and….thrill, I guess….is taken out of it. Way back when, dealing with people in the Intensive Care Unit was great—as cruel as that may sound—we didn't get a chance to see injuries or illnesses like theirs very often. But time goes on, and you get so good at what you're doing that eventually that _is_ all you're doing, while others around you do the things you wish you could do, but most likely will never get to because of the number of surgeons on call at a time.

However, today is different. For once in….in….a really long time, I'm finally one of the only surgeons on call. At least, one of the only experienced ones. So when Dr. Cox paged us to send someone down to the Emergency Room, I was the natural selection to go there. Not that I wouldn't have volunteered anyway. The ER? Now _that's_ where most of the action is. And the most vital if not dangerous surgeries are assigned. Most of us would kill for a chance to operate on people like that—so injured, sick and/or traumatized that often times we hold their very fate in our hands. I know that sounds like some sort of twisted game, but a lot of the time, it's true. Our skill and performance often does decide—voluntary or not—whether someone lives or dies on the operating table….

….well whaddaya know! There're the doors to the ER straight ahead of me! Now we'll see just who the poor innocent victim I'll have the pleasure of saving is.

Pushing the doors aside, I burst into the room, wearing my cocky but confident smile as I go to meet up with Dr. Cox, and learn who my patient will be.

"Hey hey hey, people!" I holler, throwing out my arms "the Turk is in the building!" I keep up my self-assured front, but inwardly I'm preparing myself for whatever sarcastic comment I just know Dr. Cox is gonna make….

"_You_?"

'_You_?' That's it? That's all he can manage? Wow….wasn't expecting an answer like….

….come to think of it, he does seem a little…._off_. I can't put my finger on it, but something about Dr. Cox is definitely different. Ah well, can't be that big a deal. And even if it were, I know he's not the kinda guy to share what's going on in his head, so why worry?

"_Yeah_, Dr. Cox," I say after a second, "it's _me_. Your surgical assistant for the day _and_ the one who's going to save the life of whatever _poor_ _unfortunate_ _soul_ they've made your responsibility."

Dr. Cox's eyes widen, and a bead of sweat rolls down the side of his forehead, and that look he was giving me before turns into a mildly…._terrified_….?....expression.

"No no no!! Absolutely not!!!!" He screams, shaking his head as he puts his hands behind it—a sign we've all come to learn means he's upset.

Though why, I still have no idea.

"Look…." I begin, feeling slightly awkward, "I don't know what issues you've managed to develop in the last ten minutes or so, but you sent for a surgeon—not requesting any specifics, might I remind you—and I'm the best man on call right now." I cross my arms, tilting my head in a slight nod for emphasis, "so like it or not, you're stuck with me."

Ha. Take that, Perry! No matter your opinions of us—or me—there's absolutely nothing you can do to—

—The next thing I know, his hands are back down, there's a mild discomfort in my back, and I'm up against the wall, pinned by a red-faced, wild-eyed Dr. Cox.

What the hell?! How'd that happen?!

"Listen, _Ghandi_," He hisses, the shoulders of my scrubs wrinkling as he holds me down, "I don't give a _shit_ who sent you down here; you have _no_ _fucking_ idea what's going on!! None at _all_!!" His grip on me is so tight I can actually feel his curled knuckles imbedding themselves to my flesh. I wince, but it goes unnoticed "so if I tell you I don't want _your_ assistance," he continues, "then you'd sure as hell better haul your ass _back_ the direction you came!!"

He's so angry right now I swear he could literally be _fuming_. As amusing as that would normally be, I'm a _little_ too preoccupied at the moment to imagine Dr. Cox with steam coming out of his head.

Besides, _I'm_ angry ,too. "Are you doubting my surgical skills?" I spit back, looking him—though it's scary, I'll admit—straight in the eye, "because I gotta tell you; we've been down that road before and you _already_ admitted I—"

"Oh! Good! He's already here!"

Simultaneously, we turn our attention to a young, female doctor clutching a chart to her chest, our…._dispute_….forgotten for the time being.

I hear Dr. Cox sigh—actually, it's more of a growl—but he refuses to let me go. "No he's _not_." He informs her, though I know it directed at me. The woman raises an eyebrow.

"He's….not?" She questions, obviously confused. Who could blame her—the man is not making any sense!

"No—"

"Yes, I _am_!" That's enough; I'm putting an end to this. I turn back to Perry, who, despite inwardly wishing for my demise, grits his teeth and lets me go. I don't know if I managed to change his mind or not….but _man_, do my shoulders hurt. "I'm the surgeon Dr. Cox sent for," I reiterate for clarification purposes. At least, I'd _better_ be. I am _not_ going to lose this opportunity.

A look of confirmation passes the younger doctor's face. "….right….well, then you should see look at this guy's test results. It took awhile, but we were finally able to determine the length of his injuries and—"

"Say no more," I cut in, reaching for the chart in her hands. I can deal with Dr. Cox later; first, I need to focus on—whoa!

Before either of us can blink, Perry shoves me aside and yanks the chart out of the other doctor's hands, before I have the chance to even glance at it. What the hell?! Is he _still_ trying to kick me out?! Well I've got news for you, man—that is _not_ gonna happen! Using the wall as a spring board, I lunge forward, and successfully manage to make contact with my target. Unfortunately, the force from my….attack….sends me off balance, and before I can catch myself, fall to the ground.

….however, it seems gravity's on my side this time, as my unexpected crash landing effectively ripped the chart right out of his hands—he never saw it coming.

Now that's what I'm talking about!

Springing to my feet, I give the still stunned man a victorious smile, before flipping open the chart to learn just who I'm going to be operati—

_**CLACK**_

The sound of hard plastic on concrete echoes at my feet, and my hand no longer has the weighted feeling of holding something. But it's only recognized faintly in the back of my head. Did the chart drop? Maybe….could be….

….don't care.

I've already seen _way_ more than I was prepared for. Ruptured spleen….pulmonary contusion….multiple fractures and breaks in not only the cranium and rib cage, but a severe break in the left arm and collar bone….

….dammit dammit dammit….this isn't….I mean….shit he won't….

I let out a strangled gasp of air, only vaguely aware how erratic my breathing has abruptly become, as the patient's name scribbled on the many papers flashes before my watering eyes….

_John Dorian._

….JD….

….my Vanilla Bear….

….he's the one I'm supposed to….?!

no….no I don't….I can't….he….

I really am crying now—right in front of them—but for the first time since I was a kid, I don't give a damn. The tears won't stop. I'm scared—horrified—how could something like this happen?!

"Dr. Turk….?"

There are voices in the background, but I hardly pay attention. How can I at a time like this?!

"I'll take care of this one, thanks…."

….my best friend…..my brother….he….he—

"….Ghandi?"

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED TO HIM?!" I roar, grabbing Dr. Cox by the front of his shirt and throwing him into the wall. "WHY IS JD'S NAME ON THAT CHART?!"

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**Dr. Cox's POV**

I knew this would happen. I _knew_ he'd react like this. That's why I didn't want him sent down here. Because….when it comes to personal things like this, even if it's at work….he's _just_ like Newbie….

….He can't control himself.

"Ghandi….Turk…." I sputter, attempting to reason with the panic-stricken surgeon, "come….come on….calm down…."

He glares harder at me—I suspected he would—and once again pushes me against the wall. "CALM DOWN?! ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR….M-MIND?!"

With that final stuttering, it occurs to me how irregular and quick his breathing has become. Shit….better do something before he starts hyperventilating.

Even though I really hate physical contact with anyone other than my ex-wife, I look past that for the time being and grasp his shaking arms with my hands, meet his gaze as firmly as I can, and say, "This isn't helping anyone, and you know it. Not you, not the other doctors around here….and _not_ JD. Now, if you want to spend the rest of the day using staff members as your own personal punching bags then that's just fine—but do it on your own time. Right now you'd better get a grip over yourself and start putting that tiny surgeon brain of yours to work, because unless you can think seriously about this, really pull yourself, then dammit Ghandi, he'll die long before you've even come close to making a decision."

I wait, my speech finished, wondering anxiously if I've made any sort of impact on him. Finally, he inhales—not fast and sharp, like earlier, but a long, steady breath—and slowly lets it out.

"Just….just tell me this…." He utters, after his heart rate's gone down, "what….what happened to him? How did he get injured so badly?"

Shit. Shoulda known he'd ask that question. But you have to tell him….if you don't, he'll only get suspicious….and though I normally would think nothing of it….I just don't have the energy to put up with whatever interrogatory questions Ghandi might be compelled to ask. "He was…." I begin after a moment, mimicking his actions and taking a deep breath "….he was hit by a car…."

Screw it. He doesn't need to know….not everything. Besides, as it stands now, who the hell cares _who_ hit Newbie? At this point we just need to focus on keeping him alive.

Bending down, I pick up the chart Ghandi let fall, and hand it back to him. "You know these injuries. How to treat them and operate accordingly. I've done all I can for the time being….so now it's up to you. He's your best friend? Then prove it by not letting him die."

He stands there, still staring at me, and I sincerely hope he's not asking for some sort of flattery and/or why I've changed my mind about letting him perform the surgery. Maybe it's because, now that he knows who the patient is, there's nothing to hide anymore. Maybe it's cuz I actually trust him come through for Newbie….

….or maybe it's because, looking at the charts myself, I realized we don't have time to send for someone else. If we do….it could be too late.

"Well what are you waiting for, Ghandi?!" I shout, agitation showing clearly in my voice at the fact he's still standing opposite me "get going!" I gesture to the female doctor, who, oddly enough, I forgot was in the room, "she'll take you down to his room—in the mean time, we'll send for some assistance for you."

I receive a nod—from both of them—before the woman motions for him to follow her down the hall. He agrees, and after exchanging looks with me, heads after her.

As I watch them go, my hands find their way to the back of my head. "Come on, Ghandi…." I whisper, clutching my hair "Don't let me down…."

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**Well, that's it for now!! Hope you guys liked it….I gotta say, it's not my favorite chapter, but for the time being, it works.**

**I did enjoy working with Turk's POV. In a lot of JDA stories I read, it's often Perry that people focus on, and HIS reaction to JD's situations….but what about Turk? Don't get me wrong, I love writing as Dr. Cox and getting his inner thoughts—that WILL continue—but I think Turk would probably be freaking out the most; he is JD's best friend, after all. Sorry if he seemed a bit over dramatic….but I think (if JD were in a critical enough condition—which he was) that Turk's reaction would be something like this!!**

**Anyway….stay tuned for the next chapter….**

**And keep those reviews coming!!!!!**


	6. His fault

**Whoa! Hey everyone!! I'm back!!**

**Sorry about the long wait, but life's (coughschoolcough) has been really hectic, and I haven't had any time in the last month (no joke) to finish this chapter, let alone post it. However, I'm back, finally!! And so I give you chapter six!!**

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**Turk's POV**

This is the hardest thing I've ever done. Seriously. Nothing I can think of—not even proposing to my wife—has ever been so….so….

I mean, this is _JD_ we're talkin' about! My best friend since….since….

….hell, I don't even remember how many years! College seems like forever ago. And I feel like I've _known_ V-bear forever. We're like brothers! Dammit I know him better than anyone else! Longer than anyone else I'm close with! Even Carla!

And now….now I gotta operate on him? Oh man….

I raise my hand—it's shaking—to wipe the sweat off my forehead before we get started. There's a painful knot in my stomach that twists violently every time I look down at my friend, lying unconscious on the operating table. He was already out before we brought him in here, but just in case he woke up during the surgery—and that woulda been a problem—he was given some anesthesia to be safe….

….but given his injuries….that's really not gonna help much. I mean, the guy's a mess! So many things could go wrong, here….so many ways he could….

No. No, stay calm Turk. You are _not_ gonna let that happen. Just….just clear your head….try not to think so much. Be like the—dare I say it—be like the Todd. Stay in the moment.

"Okay, guys," I begin slowly, taking a slow, deep breath to steady my nerves, "It goes without saying this surgery needs to be a success, so…." I have to stop then, struggling to keep the tears from falling, "….so let's….let's everyone stay focused….and be on alert. A lot of things could go….could g-go wrong if we're not absolutely careful…." Under my mask, I bite my lip. Hell, I'm not like the Todd. I just….I just can't stay in the moment. Not when it's _JD's_ life in my hands! Pulmonary contusion….ruptured spleen….dammit, I can't just overlook injuries like that! He could….he could d—

"It's okay, T-dog. We've got your back. You don't need to worry about a thing." I flinch, startled by the pressure of the Todd's hand on my shoulder, the only surgeon currently in the room that I actually know. But the physical action is nothing compared to the unusual seriousness of his comment. Surprised, I raise my head, and, looking into his dark eyes….I gotta say I'm pretty shocked when I'm met with a grave expression in each one. Something I thought I'd _never_ see in someone like him. I gulp, but nod in a silent thank you. It doesn't change much, but somehow knowing I'm not alone in this makes me feel a little better. A little more confident. A little surer that we're going to succeed.

"Alright." I say after a moment, "Everyone—Dr. Quinland remove your hand from my shoulder—we've got work to do."

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Elliot's POV**

Frick! Frick frick _frick_!!!!!

I can't….no….JD….

My body is racked with a painful sob, and I wrap my arms further around myself, my fingernails digging hard into the sides of my arms. I can't believe this is happening….

He was hit by a car.

JD was hit by a car.

Not a bike. Not a scooter….

A car. A damn, frickin' car! And now he's lying on the operating table, with nothing keeping him from death but those thick-headed surgeons doing who-knows _what_ to him….oh sho—shit.

Shit! He could die! Something could go horribly wrong and he could die! Right there! Right there with all those doctors surrounding him! He'll just….oh shit….

"S-shit…." I choke out, a flood of tears pouring down the sides of my face. No doubt my make-up's smudged—my cheeks are probably stained with it.

But for once, I actually don't care. I don't _care_ about my appearance right now.

I just….I just want….

"Oh C-Carla…." I sputter, burying my head in the shoulder of my best friend, who's been sitting with me in a tight hug for the past….

….oh I don't know. However long it's been since Dr. Cox came in and told us that JD was in….was i-in….

Another sob—so harsh it actually cuts off my breath for a minute, and my grip on my arms tighten; trying to distract myself from the pain in my chest by digging my fingernails so deep into my skin that, any tighter, I might actually draw blood. Frick!

Carla's embrace tightens, her occasionally trying to calm me down by whispering in soothing tones "shhhh, it's okay."

"N-no Carla…." I find myself whimpering into her pink scrubs, "no it's not. It's n-not okay." Maybe that was a bit harsh, but it's true. There's _nothing_ okay about this situation. I heard Dr. Cox. I recognized those injuries…..

….trying to operate on all those at once….

The chance of him surviving something like that is….

"Dammit!" I scream, causing Carla to jump. If JD….if he….he….

It's only then I notice that Carla isn't trying to comfort me anymore. She isn't saying _anything_.

I guess the reality of the situation's finally impacted her, too.

There's a part of me—I hate to admit—that's….happy….she's finally realized how bad things are….but at the same time….I….

….I'm scared. Scared because, with Carla on the way to the state I am now, there's no one I can look to to be strong for me. No one who will—even if I don't believe it—to tell me that everything _is_ going to be okay.

I raise my head then to look at her, wondering just how far along she is in breaking down. Nowhere near as bad as me, obviously….but even someone as strong as her can't—

"What do you mean, "hit by a car?""

--hold on. That's the Janitor's voice.

"I mean exactly as how it sounds: JD was hit by a car and is currently in the operating room, while my husband tries his damnedest to repair his injuries."

And _that's_ _Carla's_ voice. What's she doing talking to the Janitor?

And how come I didn't notice it until now?

"Oh." He replies, a rare expression of shock on his face. "I didn't know that."

"You _didn't_?" Carla asks, in a disbelief tone. "How could you _not_? Dr. Cox stormed in here nearly a half hour ago with the news—it was hard to miss him."

Janitor shrugs. "Wasn't here." He tells her, his expression back to its usual indifferent look, "I was busy…." He throws me a glance, realizing that I'm now paying attention to the conversation, "....down in pediatrics—mopping up a mess one of the kids made."

It pisses me off a little that the Janitor wasn't aware of this earlier, but at the same time, I give him a silent round of applause; being able to remain true to his work, while others—like me—are falling apart.

I wish I could be that strong….

….then again, the Janitor doesn't lo—

The onslaught of tears increase now, and I'm back to bawling like a baby. Squeezing my eyes shut, I retreat back into Carla's shoulder, her kind but forceful "you should go"—directed at the Janitor—muffled by the volume of my sobs.

I know I'm overreacting….severely wounded or not, Turk is a skilled surgeon….he wouldn't let anything happen to JD….

….he'd do everything in his power to make sure things turn out alright….

…..But….myself being a doctor….I can't help but dread that looming "what if" factor:

What if our surgical team _isn't_ enough?

What if….what if this time, things are _beyond_ Turk's power?

....what if JD….what if he….?

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Turk's POV**

So far, so good.

It's been over an hour, and after some tricky but clever work, we were able to remove the fluid from JD's lungs. I know it's too early to celebrate, and that our victory could be short-lived, but hey, we had to be especially careful; though his x-rays showed none of his broken ribs had punctured anything—thankfully—they was still in pretty bad shape, and had this procedure been sloppy, I'm guessing….hell, I _know_….that one false move and we'd have a whole different situation on our hands.

Still, even without any holes in his lungs—or heart—we're not finished yet. Though we've cleared his airway—Todd's pulling out the tube now, matter o' fact—we still have to repair damage to the spleen, and see to his broken bones.

Well, one thing at a time.

"Alright, everyone!" I announce, straightening in order to stretch my back, "we've got one success under our belt; whaddaya say we shoot for another?" There's a unanimous agreement amongst the other surgeons; the Todd even holding out his hand in "another victory five!"

Though I deny him the five—things are a little too intense right now—I feel good about this, I really do. I mean, sure, I'm still worried about JD….but somehow, the fear I had earlier is slowly dying—wow, man, inappropriate choice of phrasing!—down. While I know a lot of this is due to the support I'm getting from my team, I think a lot of it is because I'm in here. Hands on. Both physically _and_ mentally fighting against the odds for my friend's life. Kinda like, in his place, since he's currently unconscious, and obviously unable to do so.

I gotta admit, it gives me a strange sense of power—and responsibility if I might add—knowing that I've been entrusted with his fate like I have….I mean, _yes_ he isn't the first person I've operated on from the ER, but he is the first….

….whoa! Hold on there, Turk. Don't go losing your cool just yet. JD needs you—you can't break on him now.

Pulling myself together—it's not all that hard, considering I pretty much _did_ have myself together—I station various surgeons around the table, instructing them with the proper tools, and assigning one of them—a less experienced one—to hand them to _me_. After all, bloody hands plus equipment? Bad idea!

"Dr. Turk?" One of the younger surgeons asks me.

I look over at him, "yeah?"

I can't see his mouth through his mask, but there _is_ a confused—yet determined—expression in his eyes. "How do you want us to proceed, here?"

Ah. Right. "well," I say, filling my voice with authority, "the guys down in ER seemed to stabilize the bleeding pretty well….it held out through our last procedure, at least." I nod my head at the Todd, in recognition of his role in its success. He gets it, so I continue. "So I think….all we need to do are a few touch-ups, to make sure it's definitely stopped."

Another surgeon, this one a woman with strange green eyes, raises her scalpel—like the way we used to raise our hands in school. Forbidding myself to picture what she must have looked like as a kid, I 'call on her' with a simple "yes?"

"Sir," she says—guess the authority thing worked—"usually with a ruptured spleen, we'd give the patient over to someone on the medical staff and have them monitor him, until the organ heals by itse—"

"_Usually_, yes." I interrupt with a sigh, feeling my cover slipping through my fingers, "but J—_Dr. Dorian's _got multiple injuries _around_ the spleen that could ultimately affect it in the future if we don't do something _now_."

I can tell she's going to say something more, but a jab from the Todd shuts her up. After that, there's a pause, and inwardly, I cringe, only then noticing the enlarged size of the organ. "So….that said," I continue, slowly reverting back to my panicked state, "we need to be extra cautious when operating—if you'll note how swollen the spleen's been, due to the accident—that we don't put more risk to his abdominal cavity. He's already got enough damage in that area as it is…."

I don't finish the sentence, and I know no one expects me too. Even if I don't recognize most people in this room, I know they've—at one point—either seen or heard about me and JD and how close we are. They must know this is hard for me.

Dammit, JD! Why'd you have to go and get hit by that car?!

"D-Dr. Turk!"

I'm snapped back into focus, by this sudden outcry, and spin around to meet the alarmed eyes of the male surgeon who addressed me before. "Dr. Turk, we—I—"

But I'm already ahead of him, my eyes having caught a glimpse of what's happening on the table.

Holy shi—

"What the hell just happened?!" I scream, terror gripping me as I grab a tool and head towards the chest cavity rapidly filling with dark red liquid. Oh shit….oh shit this isn't good!

To my left, the Todd, working frantically, replies, "Not sure—checking to see if anything needed 'touching up' and suddenly started bleeding. No explanation other than uncounted for side effect." The words are quick, monotone—and he instantly resumes focus, working as diligently as he can to close the wound before hemorrhaging occurs.

Trying to ignore the fact that this is my _best friend_ on the table, I dive right in, joining the Todd, and mentally crossing my fingers.

_Don't do this to me, JD, _my thoughts plead, blood spattering on my scrubs as I work, _don't call it quits before I have a chance to try, here._

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Dr. Cox's POV**

Dammit! What the hell is taking so long!? It's been over the necessary time it should take to fix Newbie's injuries—and I don't care how many there were! Shit, if Ghandi screwed up in there I swear I'll….

_Watch it, Perry. There's no need to panic. You've seen countless other surgeries take twice as long as this one right here, and everything turned out alright in the end. Why start overreac—_

Damned conscious. Shut the hell up. This _isn't_ like any other surgery, dammit….

….and things might _not_ end up all hunky-dory.

Not for Newbie….

….and not for _me…._

_Oh that's just great. Real great. Thinkin' about yourself when your friend's life is on the line?_

Aaaaaand there's that fuckin' voice in my head again. Well I've got some news for you, conscious, Newbie _isn't_ my friend. Not even remotely close. It's just….it's just that….

….shit….I saw his condition….even before the….the accident. Kid looked like he hadn't eaten in over a week; who the hell knows how wrecked his body's gotten without proper nourishment.

I sigh, my hands back over my head, my thoughts drifting back to earlier today, when I caught Newbie after he freaked out in the lab….

….I still can't get over just how….how weak he actually looked. Not skeletal, but pretty damn close. I don't know, maybe I'm just exaggerating—he gave me a helluva scare, after all—but Newbie….well, he certainly _wasn't_ healthy. That's a fact.

Shit, I'd almost say he was physically ill; he definitely possessed some symptoms that could lead ya to believe so.

But….

Letting out a sharp sigh, I bring my hands down, and glance at the watch on my wrist. _Wonderful_. They're pressing four and a half hours in there. I growl. "Ghandi if you kill him I swear I'll—"

"You lay one finger on my husband and _I'll_ be the one dealing out damage."

What the hell? I spin around, facing the mouth of the lit corridor and the unnerved Latina woman standing before it.

"Carla?" I ask, taken aback by her sudden appearance, "What are…." The repetitive sniffling at her right comes to my attention, and I look down. _Perfect_. Barbie's here too. "….you _two_ doing here?" I finish, trying my best to suppress my rage at their arrival. Of all people to show up….I mean _yes_ their Newbie's friends, and of course they're concerned….but….ah dammit this makes everything a lot more I don't know, risky? You better believe it does.

"Carla." I reiterate, restraining my hands from placing themselves behind my head, "Ya know I don't like it when people don't answer me, right?" There's an incredible amount of venom in my voice—didn't intend for that to happen but give me a break—and though I see Carla's eyebrow twitch slightly, her previous expression remains unwavered.

"You _don't_ wanna go there with me Perry." She warns, glaring at me before her eyes fall back on the still sniveling blond _mess_ at her side. Giving her friend a one-armed hug, Carla continues. "Elliot and I couldn't take the suspense upstairs—" Suspense? What suspense? "So we decided to join you….and _yes_ I knew you'd be here don't even start."

She adds that last bit when she sees I'm about to interrupt her, like she usually does. However, _like_ usual, I have a feeling there's something more to her explanation….but the look she gives me tells me I'd better not ask any more questions.

Yet that isn't the _only_ thing her eyes tell me.

"_We're both worried about JD,"_ she says silently, her brown irises full of worry, _do you know anything else?"_

I should have expected as much….she is the 'mother of Sacred Heart' after all. And while I actually consider Carla my….friend….this time around, her silent question actually makes me _angry_. That mixed with Blondie's nonstop blubbering….I swear I am _this_ close to losing it….

Of course….I know what could happen if I do. I'm not a man of many emotions but I do tend to get angry a lot—hell, on a daily….or at least weekly….basis. Even so, it's never been over something like this. I've always kept my cool. Always. Even if it's someone other than a John Doe patient I've only treated but never had the _pleasure_ of making them my _acquaintance_.

Jordan….

Hell, even _Ben_…..

I've never lost it in the hospital—never—so if I suddenly freaked out _now_….

Shit….it's not _who's_ in there that's the problem….it's that it's my—

"Whoa. What the _hell_ are you all doing down here?"

Train of thought forgotten, my head shoots up, following this new voice to its source. I said 'new' but I know damn well who the voice belongs to, and that suffocating feeling I had earlier returns.

"Ghandi…." I choke, granting me an eyebrow raise from Carla, "well?"

As I struggle to breath, while waiting for a response, that turtlehead of a surgeon just _stands_ there; still surprised and confused as to why his _sorority_ _sisters_—of which I'm not part—are doing outside the OR room.

Almost forcing my breath to return, I whistle to get his attention. Dammit I don't have time for this bullshit. "Ghandi!" I snap.

He jumps.

Mission accomplished, Perry, you now have his undivided attention. "Let's try this again" I demand—don't care how that phrase's supposed to be used it was _not_ a suggestion "When I ask you how the surgery went you give me the blatant honest truth. Ready?" I speed hastily along—like Carla, I hate when people interrupt me, "_how did Newbie's surgery go_?"

Expecting him to explode with emotion, and start recounting the triumphant tale of his victory, it unnerves me a bit when he asks to talk to me privately. His expression is unreadable, but something in my gut tells me whatever it is he needs to talk to me about _isn't_ going to be good. Now, I know a gut feeling isn't much to go by, but hell, I've been a doctor for twenty years and ninety percent of the time I'm right about these things.

Whether I want to be or not.

Once we're out of ear-shot—if we talk quietly that is—from Carla and Blondie, Ghandi takes a deep breath, a sign usually followed by a long speech.

Shit.

"Well, Dr. Cox…." He begins, his voice steady but not necessarily calm, "good news is, JD survived surgery….."

"Buuuut…."

Another breath—this one slightly strangled, "we ran into a….a few problems after our first procedure…."

Oh shit the boy's gonna chicken out—his voice is already a lot quieter than needed.

Not sure what else to do I snap, which seems to bring him back into focus. "Come on, come on." I urge, restraining myself as best I can from physically shaking him, "_what_ happened?"

"well…."

"_Yes_….?"

He sighs, beginning to fidget with his hands. That's new. "soon as we finished clearing out his lungs, some unaccounted for bleeding broke out near his spleen—"

"how bad—"

"—pretty bad."

"shit…."

For some reason, whatever he's going to say next seems caught in his throat; he needs to say it—as my surgical consol I have the right to know what went on in the OR—but as a friend….

"Dammit Ghandi just say it!" I shout, forgetting for a moment there are other people not privy to our conversation. He, however, has not forgotten this, and his flaky expression breaks—temporarily shooting me a 'what the hell, man?' look.

Nevertheless, my words seem to have reached him, and he replies, so quickly it takes me a minute to comprehend, "wetookouthisspleen."

It takes me a minute to realize what he just says.

_Only_ a minute.

"You WHAT?!" I screech suddenly, my anger escalating to a whole new level, "You took out his _spleen_?!" Carla and Blondie are looking at us now, but I don't care. I'm _done_ being quiet. Done being _calm_. "What the _hell_ were you _jackasses_ thinking?!"

His lip is quivering—the jerk—Ghandi's already big eyes get even wider, his shaking hands in front of his face in some pitiful means of defense.

I canNOT believe this.

"L-Look….Perry…." 'Perry?' Who gave _him_ privilege to use my first name? "I know it sounds kinda rash—"

"Yeh-eah it does—"

"—But….but I wouldn't….I wouldn't make a decision without….hell, JD's my best friend and….and if he wakes up I'm sure he'll…."

He starts BS-ing about hell knows what, but I've lost interest in any and all excuses he could possibly….

"….wait a minute…." I cut in, reflecting on the _one_ thing that _did_ manage to catch my attention, "….did you say _if_he wakes u—"

"PERRY!!!!!!!"

I cringe. Oh no. No no no no no _no_.

Not _her_.

"Er, Jordan…._hi_…."

The she-hulk glares at me, her eyes full of all things evil and her vicious pearly-whites snarling at me. "Don't you dare '_hi'_ me!!" She snaps, jabbing a pointed finger in my face, "In fact, don't say anything at all!"

My chest tightens with painful pressure—caught in the unfamiliar clutch of dread.

"You've got some _damn_ nerve!!" Jordan continues, caught in another _whirlwind_ of anger "Leaving Jack and I in the parking lot, after what you just—"

They're all looking at us now—Carla, Blondie….even Ghandi now….

_Fuck_.

"Jordan…._Jordan_…." I try, doing everything I can to crack through her hard core and reason with her, "Jack was _fine_—a bit beat up, cuts and bruises yes—but fine…." I pause, only then noticing the absence of our kids at Jordan's side, "….speaking of which, where _are_ the kids?"

"They're down in daycare," Jordan hisses, her fury only increasing, "I'm taking them up to my mother's for a week or two."

_What_?

"W-what?" I sputter like an idiot. Can't be helped…. I wasn't prepared to hear her say…."Why….why would you do that?!"

"Why?! _Why_?! Fuck Perry, you shouldn't' have to ask that question!!"

"Jordan!" Carla suddenly cries, obviously appalled to have heard the '_f-word'_ escape her venomous lips, "is that _really_ necessary?"

"Yeah….Jordan…." I join in, "_is_ it—"

"_You_, shut up." She orders, before whirling around to face the latina woman, "and _yes_. It is." She's back to looking at me now; but I can tell she's still _technically_ speaking to Carla. "Thanks to this sonuvabitch our son was almost _killed_ today!"

I freeze, tearing my gaze away from my ex-wife long enough to glimpse the others' abrupt reactions. Oh no. Please Jordan….don't….

"K-Killed?!" Blondie echoes, the first time I've heard her spoke since she came down here, "What….what _happened_?"

"Your son almost died?!" Carla added in disbelief, "is he _okay_?"

"Yes, he's okay _now_. No thanks to this crazy-ass _driver_."

I gulp.

I know what's coming next.

"Y-you mean you…." Carla.

"Dude!! I can't…." Ghandi.

"How could do something like that?!" Aaaaaand Blondie.

"Look look it was an accident!!" I find myself blurting, mustering up any sort of defense I can against their hateful glares. "I didn't intentionally try to hit my kid with the car!"

"Yeah?!" Jordan, clearly not finished with me, jumps back in, "well accident or not, you're so damn lucky your little _protégé_ jumped in when he did or trust me when I tell you it wouldn't be just your license they'd take away!!"

With those last words, she turns away, too angry and too….disgusted with me to continue any further.

And though it hurts, coming from her, that isn't what has my immediate focus.

It's the hollow, horrified stares coming from the three other people in the room. Like completing a puzzle, they'd found the last pieces and put it all together…..

I could see it in their eyes.

JD's accident, my skittish behavior, Jack's near-death experience….it all made sense to them now….

….they knew it was my fault.

"You…." Carla utters, her voice barely above a whisper, "y-you….did this to….?"

"C-Carla….I…."

She shakes her head, a pained expression on her face. "Oh Perry…."

Blondie squeaks. "D-Dr. Cox….you….you…." she stops, fresh tears spilling from her eyes, "y-you bastard! Why?! W-why? I-I-I know you didn't always get along but….b-but…." This time, the pause is final, and she starts to cry again, burying her head in her hands.

The knot in my throat migrates to my chest. _Fuck_! Fuck fuck _fuck_! This was _not_ supposed to happen!! "Look…." I attempt, hopelessly trying to stop the…the….guilt? Terror? I don't know. But I….I can't handle it. "….I didn't….he….how could I…."

Nothing but fragmented phrases. Desperate words coming from a desperate man. "Guys come on!" I plead, "you….you know I would never—"

"SHUT UP!!!!" Ghandi screeches, the first audible reaction he's made, "he trusted you! He looked up to you!!" His eyes are widened to their full extent; tears prickling the corners, "He called you his fuckin' mentor!! And what do you do, you son of a bitch?! You _hit_ him with your damn car!! HIT HIM!! The _fuck_?!"

"Turk….Turk I di—"

"SHUT UP!! Just _SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU ASSHOLE_!!" He roars, so violently that I actually find myself _shaken_. Shit….I thought he was mad be—

_**WHAM!  
**_

"ARGH!!"

Without warning, Ghandi rams his fist as hard as he can into my face. Pain floods into my nose and forehead, and I fall to my knees, clutching at the physical wounds, as he turns back to the other two.

"Let's get out of h-here." His voice cracks, he too, starting to cry as his wife takes his arm and leads the trio away from the OR….

….and away from _me_.

Sitting there, alone, abandoned, and unable to breathe through my nose, I realize something.

That it _isn't_ the situation that's bothering me. It _isn't_ they've learned what I've done.

It's this….this….uncontrollable agony in my chest….and the….the knowledge that I can't walk away this time.

I can't approach this like I do everything else.

I can't pretend I don't care.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

**I gotta say, Perry's POVs are by far the hardest to write in this fic so far….this last part took me FOREVER, and even then I'm not sure it's the way I want it. Ah well. It's not terrible.**

**That aside….there's an unusually large amount of swearing in this chapter….sorry if that bothered anyone, I don't usually use the kind of words I use in this fic, but I think it's necessary this time.**

**Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed chapter six!**

**As always, reviews are greatly appreciated!**


	7. Our long week

**Hi everyone! It's been a while, huh? Sorry I haven't updated sooner—I've been really busy lately. That, I've had a horrible writer's block for the past two months or so. See, I changed where I was originally going with this chapter, because I didn't like it at all. It was too….well, it was lacking what I felt the earlier chapters in this fic had. So I tried to bring it back. I'm not entirely sure I succeeded—I think I may have rushed just a bit—but I do like it better than what I was originally going to do. **

**That aside….I do feel like each characters' perspective is a bit all over the place, but….well, I don't know….I think it works. That, and I'm going to be away for a lot of this summer, and I wanted to make sure I updated before I left!**

**Anyway, enjoy!**

**-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**JD's POV**

Dark….

….so dark….

….can't….can't see….

Where….where am….?

….h….how long have….?

….cold….

….it's….so….

….cold….

….can't….can't get….

….warm….

….can't m….move at all….

….am I….?

….is this….?

….is this what….death....feels like….?

….p….

….pain….

….pain….e….everyw….where….

….how….

….don't….remember….

....did….

….was it….

….help….

….someone….

….help….me….

….I don't….I don't want….

….I didn't mean….

….please….

….please….

….don't….

….don't leave me….

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**Janitor's POV**

Subtle look to the left….glance right….aaaaaaaaaaaand assume the position!

Mop held erect in my right hand, I narrow my eyes—giving the passerbys in the window my—and you may quote me—famed evil-eye. This of course sends them backing into the opposite wall, giving me the satisfactory yet again of another mission accomplished. Ah, they run just like rabbits when they realize there's no way out from behind them—have to make a mad dash to the side. But that makes it all the more enjoyable on my part. And no, I haven't forgotten Angry doctor's instructions:

"_Make sure no jackasses come in here until I get back."_

But that doesn't mean I can't have fun while I do it.

Besides, I'm not even sure he's supposed to be here. I may not be a doctor, at least, not by day, but I've been at this hospital long enough that I don't think the one responsible for a patient's injuries are allowed in their room. That, or I've stumbled into that alternate dimension in the broom closet again. Either or.

I shrug then—after making sure no one's around to see it—and lean a bit on my mop; my attention—still with the evil glare (to maintain the air of a mastermind at work in case anyone _does_ come by)—on the man I've been assigned to guard. "Dorian, Dorian," I murmur, purposely letting that rare emotion called concern in my voice "you're a mess, aren't ya?" Thankfully I don't have to worry about showing my—and this, you may _not_ quote—soft side to him: he can't hear me. At least, I don't _think_ he can. Never been in a coma before. I _hope_ he can't hear me, or I'm gonna have a whole lot of 'ha, you really don't hate me!' on my hands when he wakes up. And don't bother correcting my 'when' with 'if.' Dorian'll come around; I know he will…..

…._Yes_, Margaret, I know it's been a week already—what does that prove? Nothing—and, no, I'm not being harsh—I'm just trying to see the light of things, here.

Might serve the rest of the hospital to do the same, come to think of it. Place is starting to act like that time my squirrel army started a mutiny….

_______________________________________________________________________

"_Now fellas…." I try, holding up my hands in some form apology, "let's be reasonable here…." They continue to glare at me, their beady black eyes filled with the kind of evil only a dead squirrel can have. _

"_Stan….Wilson….come on guys! This is _me_, remember? Good ole' 'save you from the garbage dump' me?" _

_No response. Just the muffled afterlife squeaking amongst themselves. _

"_Guys?"_

_Their murmuring gets louder—it's times like these I wish I couldn't speak to poltergeists—and the look in their eyes only darkens. I hastily spring out of my chair, and run towards the door, only to realize it's been locked…._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------_

I shiver.

I don't care what anyone else tells you; a dead squirrel is impossible to reason with….

…._but_ back to my original train of thought, people around here are starting to act very similar to them.

Except instead of going after _me_, they're after _each other_.

Take Black doctor for example. Ever since the accident, he's pretty much stopped speaking all-together; the other day when I was on guard duty, I saw Angry doctor approach him while he was checking some chart gibberish. As soon he sees Angry doctor, he stares at him—glares at him (trying and nearly succeeding in plagiarizing my evil eye I might add)—and walks off in the other direction. Angry doctor goes after him, Black doctor ignores him. It kept up for about ten minutes before Angry doctor decided to give up. Had more important things to do than argue with that trademark stealing surgeon.

That aside, he isn't the only one—even Blond doctor, I've noticed, is a tad more vicious than usual. And nearly twice as hysterical. Like at lunch yesterday. She and Latina nurse were sitting in the cafeteria—I was on my self-assigned break so I wasn't up in Dorian's room—eating some toxic looking thing that shouldn't be categorized as food—not gonna lie, my guys were much better working there than whoever else is on duty now—and Angry Doctor comes by yelling about something or other. Whatever was on my plate decided to spring an attack on me at that moment, so I wasn't able to hear what he was yelling about. Life or death battles can be quite distracting….

….anyway: Angry doctor's obviously mad, and he's pointing at Blond doctor with one hand and at the door with the other. Latina nurse just kinda sits there—I think she and her meal were in a battle of wits, but that could just be me—and Blond doctor, her eyes all red and pretty damn watery, looks at Angry doctor, her own delicate hands curling into fists. At least, one is—I couldn't see the other one….

….until she stands up, that is, and throws her chart at him. Heh, if she hadn't looked so upset, the whole thing would have been pretty funny. You know: one more injury to add to Angry Doctor's face—he already had a ridiculous looking contraption on his nose from when Black doctor punched….

....did I say "each other?" No no, I meant "going after_ Angry doctor_."

Poor Angry doctor. Everyone seems to have turned against him. At least, that I've seen. And yes, I know, it's his fault—he's the reason Dorian's comatose—but I just don't see it that way....

….watch your snide comments, Margaret, or I'll have to suspend you like I did Steve. It _isn't_ his fault. He didn't do it on purpose. And to be honest, I think everyone in this hospital knows that. Yeah, hard to believe….but if they didn't, would they really put up with him coming into work every day to take care of Dorian personally? Probably not….that, or they're too terrified of him to protest while he's around—the interns are, anyway. Don't know about the rest of the staff—especially the nurses. I've seen some terrifying things in my day—most of which live in my garage—but one thing no one should _ever_ see is an angry nurse-mob, all ganging up on one guy. Not a pretty sight, I'll tell ya that much.

That's actually why I'm here; standing in the corner of Dorian's room with my ominous glare. I'm keeping a lookout for anyone who tries to take over Angry doctor's job and kick him out whenever he leaves for a second or two. Now, when they finally listen to my 'android doctor' idea, we wouldn't have these problems, but until then, he's a man. A man who needs to leave Dorian's room every so often to relieve himself. So I assume the evil-eye until he comes back. Because anyone who _isn't_ afraid of Angry doctor _is_ afraid of _me_.

"Mmf…."

What was that?

"mffmmp…m…."

I freeze, my heart beginning to pound faster and faster in my ears. They found me! Dammit! And just when I thought I'd finally lost them for good! Okay….okay….don't panic....see, look? You can see Angry doctor from the window—he's on his way back now—they wouldn't dare—

"F….fmrf…..?"

Wait a second. Waaaaait a second. That doesn't sound like them. First of all, it isn't echoing like usual.

And secondly, it's coming from somewhere near Dorian's bed.

"Dorian?" I ask hesitantly, taking a step towards him, "you awake?" My first instinct is to poke him with my mop—for clarification—but he's already in bad enough shape without adding me to the mix. Plus—and not that it matters—I don't think Margaret would approve. It's a good thing when it comes to Janitor vs mop, Janitor always wins. Still, doesn't change the fact that I actually have to speak to Dorian to tell if _he's_ the one making those noises. I'm glad Angry doctor's still outside; I hate showing that I care about people when others are around.

Then again, if Dorian _is_ muttering to himself, it proves I was right about him waking up.

As I'm figuring out exactly what to do about this, Angry doctor walks in; his face red and his forehead creased.

"Anyone come in here?" He asks taking a slight breath as he speaks.

"Nope," I reply, crossing my arms, despite holding my mop, "but I think Dorian's coming around. Started muttering a little while ago."

Something changes in Angry doctor's expression when he hears that, and his already bad mood seems to darken. "That's not funny." He snaps, walking past me to check on Dorian.

My eyelid twitches. I wasn't making a joke.

"You callin' me a _liar_?" I challenge suspiciously, slightly annoyed. He turns around, a murderous look in his eyes.

"Well what do you think, Sasquatch?" He barks back, too on edge to realize he's crossing into dangerous territory. "Does he" and here he jerks his thumb towards Dorian "_look_ like he could make any sound?"

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised by his reaction—after all, Angry doctor's been under a lot of stress lately—but being insulted is something I never have nor will tolerate. Especially after spending a week standing guard for him. "_You're_ the doctor." I retaliate, purposely letting my irritation show, "You tell me."

I can see I really pushed his buttons with that one, as his already deadly eyes are now glinting with….anxiety….?....fear….? I don't know. And I don't get the chance to find out. Because it's right then, in the midst of our quarrel, that said subject of argument does something neither of us expect.

He screams.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**JD's POV**

"ARGH!!!!!!!!!"

Where am I?! What's going on?! Why does….why does everything hurt so much!? Arms, legs—side—won't go away! GAH! Shit! Make it stop! Someone make it stop! Dammit!!

"….out of….way…."

"D….rian….t's wrong wi…."

"I said….f way…."

Voices. I hear voices. But who? Who's there? Agh it hurts! Stinging….burning….why?! What happened to me?! How….

Come on….come on….focus—fight through the pain. You're a….you're a doctor….use your head….

Doctor….doctor….pain….pain….morphine! Morphine makes it stop! Find….get some….

I try to lift my hands, but for some reason they feel really heavy and unfamiliar. But I don't give it too much thought. I just need….

Gah....no good….can't close into fist….something in the way of….dammit! Dammit dammit dammi—

"….relax….D....okay….it's o…."

More voices—same ones as before. But I can't figure out where they're coming from. Everything's….so hazy….spinning….ARGH! Shit! Shit it….it….

….it....

"Newbie?"

It's….stopping….pain….pain's going….

"Newbie? Can you hear me?"

I blink, wincing as everything—hearing, vision—starts coming into focus. "Uhn….Dr….Dr. Cox?" I squeak, my voice hoarse and throat dry. "Whe….where…."

There's a slight pressure on my shoulder—Dr. Cox's hand. "Sacred Heart. Room 284." He says, looking down at me, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. I grimace despite the morphine coursing through my body, it having yet to take effect.

Dr. Cox picks up on this, as his next question is one every doctor uses when addressing someone who's just experienced severe pain: "How are you feeling?"

"….hurt…." I manage, suddenly realizing how tired I feel. Almost like I've been sedated, or asleep for a really long time. I try to raise my arms—to stretch and try to wake myself up—but have trouble lifting them. When I look down, I realize why they felt so heavy earlier.

"You broke both your hands and right arm." Dr. Cox explains, obviously noticing my confusion towards the casts—and stitches in the case of my arm—adorning my appendages. Maybe it's cuz I'm so tired, but at the moment I can't seem to remember receiving such injuries. At all.

I turn to Dr. Cox, still confused, but now with an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. "What….what happened to me?" I inquire, only half sure I want to know the answer—in the process of looking towards him, I managed to catch a quick glimpse of the rest of my body….and I'm not gonna lie, it didn't look good.

I'm still awaiting a response from him, in hopes he'll shed some light on whatever it was that happened.

However, he isn't the one who says the next words I hear.

"You were in a coma."

"Dammit what are you still doing here?!"

Okay, that second voice was definitely Dr. Cox….but the first one….

Wait wait wait. Did he say a….

"You. Leave. Now!" In an instant, Dr. Cox is on his feet, stalking over to the other side of the room....and towards the _Janitor_ standing in the corner. Dunno why he's in _this_ room of all places. Guess it doesn't really matter though, because regardless of— not sure why he's protesting in the first place— his protests, Dr. Cox succeeds in shoving him out the door. And as much as I love seeing the Janitor actually being defeated, his words from before are still buzzing around in my head.

And that feeling in my stomach only gets worse.

"Was he….was he serious?" I ask hesitantly, as Dr. Cox sits back down. He doesn't respond at first—at least, not verbally—but sighs, his hands resting themselves behind his head, which kinda alarms me.

"Yes, Newbie…." A pause "….he was."

WHAT?!

"W-what?"

"….after the….the accident….you suffered a variety of injuries. Combine that with the sever….well, it was more than your body could take and—hell you know how it works—it shut down."

I'm a bit bothered by how monotone he is when telling me this; I mean, if things were really…._are_ really….that bad, then I at least thought he might show me even the tiniest hint that he cares. Instead of treating me as if I were any other patient, and not the loyal protégé who's followed him around and hung onto every single little order he's ever given since I was an intern. But no, he stays professional, calls me 'Newbie' and acts like he doesn't give a _damn_ the entire time.

Looks like I've set my expectations too high yet again.

My turn to sigh, I attempt to roll over, suddenly losing interest in our conversation. However, a sharp twinge of pain in my side quickly eliminates that option, and I'm forced to resorting to staring at the ceiling. I hate this. I hate _him_. I mean, first I wake up screaming in agony and having no idea where I am; then when I finally do learn, I still can't remember how I got there, or how I managed to break like, half my body, to the point where I slipped into a coma.

Dammit! Why does everything always happen to me? Why am I always the one who ends up suffering, while everyone sits idly by and does absolutely _nothing_ to help?

It isn't fair. And yes, I know Perry isn't one for being all emotional, but I thought maybe, this time around….

….shit, all he really told me was that I was in some sort of….

"Jack!" I scream, panic rising in my chest, "what….is he….did I….?!" Of course; how could I forget?! This….this accident Dr. Cox keeps referring to….why I'm such a wreck….I remember it all.

"Whoa, easy there, Newbie." Dr. Cox interjects, glancing apprehensively at one of the monitors, "Jack's fine. You….you saved his life."

"wha—I—uh…." Caught up in my anxiety, that last part of Dr. Cox's sentence doesn't register at first.

And even when it does, I'm still not entirely sure I believe it. "….oh…." I reply hesitantly, studying Dr. Cox' face. Maybe I'm being paranoid, or just desperate to be recognized by him….I'm not sure. Because there's no way the man sitting next to me would actually acknowledge something I did….especially if it had to do with _him_. I mean—and I'm probably just imagining things—it sounded kinda like a thank—

"Newbie!"

Huh? Oh….right….guess I zoned out again. Crap.

"Um….good." I say quickly, in an effort to let him know I was paying attention "that's good." I stop for a moment, cringing as that same pain from before stabs at my side. Why the hell can I still feel that? I thought the morphine would….forget the damned pain! Stay on topic here! "Jack…." I gasp, fighting and failing my battle against the sharp feeling in my side, "….h-how is….?"

"He's fine, Newbie." Is my answer—sonuvabitch failing to realize how much I'm hurting right now—"last I saw, he only had a few scratches. Nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"Oh….that's….great…." I mutter through clenched teeth, _this_ close to crying out, " when….when was the….the last time you s-saw him?"

I think the pain must be getting to me, because I swear I saw something like sadness in Dr. Cox's eyes right then. It was only for a moment though, so I really have no idea whether I was seeing things or not.

However, even the thought of Dr. Cox showing some other emotion other than hatred towards yours truly doesn't even compare to the shock of what he says next.

"The last I saw Jack…._a week ago._"

A week ago? A _week_ ago? But that means…

I must have had some contorted look on my face, because my inner monologue is confirmed with a distant and monotone "That's right, Newbie. _One week_. That's how long you were out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Dr. Cox's POV**

I'm still not sure whether to be cursing or thanking Newbie for waking up like he did. _Yes_ it now means I'll _finally_ get his sorority sisters to stop accusing me of murder, but at the same time—with the condition he's in—it would almost benefit him more if he _had_ stayed comatose a while longer. Keep him from asking all those re-heally complicated questions that I'd rather _not_ answer right now. And no, I'm not just saying that cuz it's annoying—although that usually does apply here—but because I knew he wouldn't be able to handle it. Hell, I've already accidentally revealed more than I first intended, although—minus that first bit, which was entirely the Janitor's fault—I did feel he had the right to learn what happened to my son. After all, it's because of him my Jackie boy is alive.

Which—once again throwing a wary glance at the heart monitor on the other side of Newbie's bed—leads me to my next point. That there's no way in _hell_ I'm gonna let him know _I'm_ the one who hit him. Now, it's not like I would do that anyway, were he just another John Doe—I wouldn't—It's just….well, I guess you could say I'm a bit concerned about the whole handling thing. If the past two fluctuations in his heartbeat are any indication, there's a possibility delivering a shock like that might put him into cardiac arrest.

Especially given his breakdown last week.

Forget what anyone else might tell ya, recovering from emotional injuries is a hell of a lot harder than recovering from physical ones; no matter how traumatic they might seem. Even given Newbie's already malnourished physique adding to the extent of severity of his injuries….I could tell, the moment he opened his eyes that something wasn't right with him. First I thought it was in response to his physical pain—he _was_ screaming bloody murder when he first woke up….yet, even after I adjusted the morphine levels and he calmed down a bit….something….something just seemed…._broken_.

He isn't the same Newbie anymore.

"Agh…."

Automatically, I pull myself out of my thoughts and look down: sure enough, Newbie's gaze meets mine—his eyes full of agony and teeth clenched together. Oh shit, I forgot. His spleen….or lack thereof actually. I purposely kept the morphine down just enough so he'd still be able to feel some discomfort in his side. Nothing against him personally, but as a newly awakened coma patient, there's a chance numbing the entirety of his wounds might send him into a comfortable sleep. And this time, there's no telling how long it'll be before he'd wake up….if at all.

"Rrgh…..D-Dr. C-Cox…."

Oh don't do that, Newbie. Don't plead with me. I know, okay? I get that you're in pain right now. But there's nothing I can do about that. So suck it up and for once in your damned life act like a man!

_….Don't say that….don't go blaming it on the kid…._

Wonderful. My stupid conscience is back. What the hell does it want this time?

_….he's not what's really bothering you, and you know it._

Blah blah blah _blah_—Shut up, will you? Mind your own business!

Damned inner voice. Trying to get me to act even remotely close to admitting I'm _afraid_. Ha. Right. _Me_ afraid? No. Not at all. He's awake now—nothing to worry about. And _yeah_, he's hurting—I already have that under control. No need to be concerned with any unaccounted for internal bleeding….

Shit. Who the hell am I kidding? Even if I did_ sortakindavaguely _trust Ghandi enough to let him operate on Newbie….his body's been so neglected it's missing most of the necessary strength needed to make an easy recovery from a surgery like he had. Let alone live with it the rest of his life.

Making a sharp exhale through my nose, I resume what I've become accustomed to doing the past few days: making a mental check and note of Newbie's figure. He's still unnaturally pale, though being hooked up to an IV drip _has_ brought a bit of coloring back in his skin, which is a start. Might try to get him to eat something later—when he's not quite so stressed out.

That aside, the rest of his injuries seem to be healing—perhaps not at the rate I would have liked—but healing nonetheless. If anything else, Newbie's collarbone's probably been benefiting the most from his stationary position: he can't move that area too well while in bed, which means it's most likely to make the quickest recovery. Good thing, too, considering Ghandi told him it was one hell of a surgery to pull off, what with how fragile his bones apparently were.

Dammit Newbie….you couldn't have at least _tried_ to drink your milk every morning? Would it have killed ya that much to care about yourself even a _little_?

Apparently not, judging by how bad his breaks and/or fractures—spends a week comatose and the first thing that registers when he comes to is the pain. That isn't good. Even with minimal pain killers, it shouldn't have been enough to create the kind of reaction he gave.

I may be a doctor—and a damn good one at that—but even _I_ didn't expect him to scream like he did.

"….Dr.—_uhn_—Dr. C-Cox….?"

Cringing at the instability of his voice, my eyes trail back up from Newbie's injured body—briefly analyzing the condition of both hands and arm—until I reach his face. "Ye-uh huh?" I reply: callous as a result from being caught off guard by the hollow expression in each of his glassy pupils. He winces, and though lying down I could have sworn I saw him jump. Shit….I'm just not used to dealing with….

"Why….?"

"Why what?"

He stops momentarily, and his forehead creases…..but whether it's out of pain or thought I'm unable to tell. "….why….why does it h-hurt so much….right….here?" One of the many visible fingers poking out from the cast around his left hand points—with difficulty—to the area just below his rib cage. Right where his spleen used to be.

Great. Juuuuust great. He _had_ to ask _that_ question. Okay then, Perry….it isn't all that bad….just….just take a deep breath….and beyond all else: go easy when you tell him….

"Well….Newbie…." I start, ignoring my objecting inner thoughts on what I'm about to say, "you…." Still behind my head, my hands absentmindedly tug at my hair, "….let's just say you're going to have a bit of difficulty in the future producing antibodies and filtering out dead bacteria…."

A tenseness settles in the air as I wait for Newbie to reply. There was a time when I could have called any and all responses of his, even before they came out of his mouth. But now….

….now it's all I can do to hold my breath and hope he doesn't freak out.

"W….what did….did you say?"

Huh. Not as bad as I first expected….but could be his skull fracture's affecting his ability to process information right now. Best and try to clear that up. "They took out your spleen." I say, deciding to simplify. He looks at me, and a knot of uneasiness curls in my throat.

"My….they took out my….?" Newbie echoes, his voice low; eyes widening dangerously.

An alarm goes off in my head—signaling I'm treading on _very_ thin ice—but I suppress its warning, refusing to let this all blow up in my face. Instead, I lean forward in my chair, look Newbie straight in his ashen face, and explain. "You know what a ruptured spleen is, Patricia. Plain and simple—rest, stay off your feet; it shrinks back after a while." The words roll off my tongue, so fast he doesn't have a chance to interject. "however, you're—as I've said many times before—a _special_ case….hell, you don't even know half the injuries you've got….and bottom line Ghandi and those other scalpel-for-brains thought it best to _take out_ that insignificant organ—and ye-_eah_ you had surgery, don't even start—so your other injuries don't affect it later on. Ya see?"

I take a good long exhale. Damn, that was a lot to say in one breath. Though I probably should have refrained from calling him a girl's name, I really didn't have a choice if I wanted him to hear the whole shebang. And he needed t—

"You took out….a piece of my body….just because of the '_possible'_ repercussions that may or may not have happened in the future?"

Each word Newbie spits from his mouth is as cold as ice. _Dangerously_ cold. The knot in my throat coils further, but I keep a straight face, refusing to let my rapidly growing anxiety creep into it.

That's not the way to approach him like this.

"That's right." I say simply, dropping my hands back into my lap. Whether he knows it or not, I'm frantically searching his face for a hint of reasoning or rationality….just one subtle sign of the old JD; the JD who could look past my rants with ease and see the intended message beneath….

….Ironically, it's right then that he snaps.

"Right?! You think it's _right_?! Dammit Perry _my spleen is gone_!!"

"I know, Newbie, I—"

"NO, you don't! You have no idea!"

"'No idea?'" I bark back, "Who the _hell_ do you think you're talking to?!" I didn't mean to be so harsh to him….I guess it's my natural reaction to something I have no control over.

However….Newbie doesn't see it that way.

"You! A stuck up, egotistical _sonuvabitch_!" He continues, close to hysterical, "Couldn't you have at least _asked_ me, first?! What _I_ thought about losing one of my own damn organs?!"

There's a slight beeping in my ear, but I'm a bit too distracted right now to pay attention to it. "Ask your….Newbie, you were going to _die_! We didn't have a choice!"

"Yeah, like I'm sure taking it out's made a _huge_ difference!"

I have to restrain myself against massaging my temples. I swear, if he hadn't cracked I woulda gotten out of my chair and started shaking him. Not that he needs my help with that; kid's pretty damn close to hyperventilating. That….or he's about to cry.

Shit.

"It _does_ make a difference, Newbie." I try again, switching my tone to a slightly less angry one, "Hell, you already had fluid in your lungs at the time and—"

"What?! WHAT?! The beeping grows louder and faster, but it's hardly noticeable in comparison to the crazed man before me. "I had _fluid_ in my _lungs_?! Well that's just _great_, Perry!!"

I'm not sure what it is….the sarcasm, the viciousness….but something or other has morphed that previous anxiety I'd been feeling into full-blown _panic_. To the point where I'm starting to feel paralyzed with the situation….shit, I'm no shrink….how the hell do I deal with something like this? With….with _him_ like this?

I mean….the….the way he's acting….it….it's almost like….m—

"Is there anything _else_, you forgot to tell me?!"

I snap back into attention, the un-pinpointed beeping now mixing with my heart pounding in my ears. Rg, it's so loud I can hardly hear. "Newbie….what did—?"

"Dammit Perry, listen to me!" He shrieks, sitting bolt upright—and causing me to jump half an inch in my chair. "I am so damn sick of everyone in this hospital writing me off!"

"But I—"

"And you! You're the worst!" There's no mistaking it now; there _are_ tears in his eyes. "I do everything for you—everything! Carry charts, errands—hell, I've even taken care of your patients once in a while!"

"Newbie—"

"No! Don't you dare '_Newbie'_ me! I'm _not_ a Newbie anymore dammit! And I'm not some helpless little girl, either! So why can't you just—"

It happened so fast I thought I was imagining it. Mid rant, Newbie stops, and what little color he has drains from his face. He gasps several times—his body shaking—before he falls back on his bed….his eyes rolling up into his head.

I stare for a moment: frozen, until the beeping I'd been hearing for sometime suddenly chokes: it's sporadic sounds all meshing together into one distinct _flat line_.

And suddenly I realize what was going on.

Instantly, I'm out of my chair and throwing open the door: not caring for the first time if the rest of the staff sees the raw terror plastered across my face.

"I need a crash cart in here, stat!" I screech, "he's coding!"


End file.
